


Upon Your Shield

by AbyssWalk3r



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ancient History, F/M, Multi, Spartans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 108,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21595303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbyssWalk3r/pseuds/AbyssWalk3r
Summary: What was supposed to be a routine contract for Jeralt and his Blade Breaker Mercenary company ended up becoming something so much more when the company comes across a shipwreck filled with soldiers from a land far beyond Fodlan's borders. With these newcomers from across the sea now taking part in raising the young Byleth while adventuring in this strange new world, the man Byleth becomes must rely on the new training and experiences he endures to carve a new path forward through the coming chaos.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Mercedes von Martritz, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Edelgard von Hresvelg & My Unit | Byleth, Hapi/My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth & Lysithea von Ordelia
Comments: 39
Kudos: 72





	1. The Soldiers From Across the Seas

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, this is what happens when I play Assassin's Creed: Odyssey while also playing Three Houses and I think "What if Byleth was a Spartan?"  
> This shit happens.

Jeralt Reus Eisner sighed as he strode towards the shoreline, the salty breeze and crash of the surf making his ancient bones ache. 

“Is this weird ship up here, Baron?” he yelled at his broad-shouldered, tanned lieutenant, whose bald head gleamed as he grinned. 

“Yup! Just on the shore past this hill, boss!” the former Almyran called, his light green eyes gleaming as his leather armor and tunic struggled to contain his titanic body. 

If he didn’t crush your bones to dust with his bare hands, then an axe large enough to saw a wyvern’s neck off would get the job done. 

“Father?” Byleth was trudging alongside the mercenary company, almost lost among the armed and armored bodies. “Who are these people we’re looking for?” 

The boy was seven, he thought, and still not expressing any emotions, his face forever etched into that granite mask. It was still unnerving, to be honest, no matter how many years passed. Jeralt was almost ready to give up on trying to get anything from the kid. 

“I don’t know, kid,” Jeralt answered, the tropical heat and buzzing of flies about to drive him mad as sweat ran down his face in a waterfall. 

His clothes and armor were baking him alive, but he knew complaining wouldn’t do anything but irritate the troops. They looked just as miserable as he did: red faces drenched in sweat as several of them again took deep swigs of their rapidly depleting waterskins. 

These damn flies were eating them all alive, except for the kid. Things never touched him, as if they sensed that something was different about him. 

“The villagers were worried about some foreign ship crashing ashore, weren’t they?” the kid spoke again, his monotone voice sending shivers up Jeralt’s spine. “The knights didn’t want to deal with it, so they asked you.” 

“Right you are, kid!” Baron said cheerfully, somehow grinning despite the baking heat. “Didn’t know if they were pirates or not.” 

Jeralt pushed his way through a bush with long sword-blade shaped leaves and immediately found their quarry: a long vessel of sorts lying in pieces on the white sand of the beach. 

It looked like some sort of galley, long and narrow with what appeared to be dozens of holes cut into the hull. Snapped oars jutted out of several of those holes, revealing their purpose, and the remains of a mast jutted up from the wrecked main deck. It looked like something titanic had stepped on the vessel, splitting it in half and shattering the main decks, sending debris and flotsam all over the place. The surf was filled with wreckage, depositing it ashore with each crashing report along with countless bodies. 

The wreckage was interesting, sure, but it was the people swarming around the wreckage that held Jeralt’s attention. There were about twenty-odd men wearing red tunics scurrying about, shouting in a language he couldn’t understand as they hauled planks, tattered canvas, or corpses out of the sea. 

Most of them were also wearing some sort of bronze cuirass, vambraces, and greaves of a make Jeralt hadn’t seen before, their heads covered by helmets of the same material. Several of the other ones wore some sort of brown and white leather cuirass instead of bronze, their heads adorned with conical helmets that didn’t seem like they’d be able to provide much protection. Crests of red hair ran down many of the helmets, but not all of them, swaying with each movement made by their owners. He couldn’t see many their faces: those wide cheek and nose guards of the heavier helmets obscured much of their features. 

The ones he could see sported thick beards and long, braided hair, their skin tanned from exposure to the elements while faces hardened by battle roamed over the beach. 

“Well, I don’t understand their tongue,” Jeralt muttered, glancing back at his company. “Anyone here recognize it? Is it from Brigid? Morfis?” 

Heads shook all around. 

“Damn it.” 

“They’re armed, but they don’t look like pirates,” Baron spoke up. 

Jeralt took another look: these foreigners had several of their number watching the beach and forest, each sentry armed with a long spear in one hand and a huge disk-shaped concave bronze shield that probably could have covered their entire torso when held up. They gleamed in the brutal midday light, and they probably intended to, if the way they were angling the shields to reflect the light said anything. 

They were too uniform, too disciplined to be pirates. 

“More like a war party that was driven ashore,” Jeralt concluded. “Either way, we need to approach this carefully, especially since neither of us speaks the other’s language.” 

Damn it, what were they supposed to do now? 

A shout from the beach snapped him from his thoughts, icy dread trickling into his mind at the sight of those foreigners running towards him, one of the sentries still shouting as he pointed his spear in Jeralt’s direction. 

“Go and spread out!” he barked at the mercenaries, who shouted acknowledgement before filing out onto the beach, kicking up scores of sand. 

Jeralt slipped his shield onto his left arm before taking his lance into both hands and striding out in front of the troops, Baron skulking out at his side. 

The foreigners shouted again, clustering together into lines before throwing their large shields in front of them, overlapping to create a bronze barrier with spears bristling over the top. Only their helmets, greave-covered legs, and spears were visible, creating a wall of bronze and iron. 

“Damn, these guys aren’t messing around,” Jeralt muttered, unease flickering through his mind. 

The foreigners remained still and steady, their muscular bodies gleaming with sweat as they held their formation. Jeralt sighed and took one slow step forward, holding his lance with the head facing skywards as the foreigners locked onto him. 

He took another step, holding his arms out wide in a gesture of peace as he placed the butt of his lance on the sandy ground. 

“Do any of you understand me?” he asked, slowly enunciating each word. 

The foreigners rippled with confusion, several of them sharing concerned looks before returning their attention to the mercenaries. One of them spoke in their strange tongue, calling something that Jeralt couldn’t hope to translate. 

“What the hell are they saying?” one of the mercenaries wondered. 

“Probably the same thing we are,” another muttered. 

“Quiet!” Jeralt hissed, and the mercs clammed up immediately. 

The two sides stared one another down, boiling in the heat as sweat fell from armored bodies and sunlight glittered off of metal. The crashing of the waves was the only sound to break the tense, sweltering silence. 

“So, uh, what are we supposed to do?” Baron asked. “Wait them out?” 

Weapons were already wavering on both sides, muscles stretched taut from holding formation beginning to tremble with the strain. 

A loud crashing from inland made both parties look to the side as a rather scrawny man came stumbling from the undergrowth, his grey scholar’s robes stained with dirt and scratched up. 

“Wait! Wait, I say!” a rather reedy voice escaped this twig as he fumbled on the sand, clutching at his sweat-slicked brown hair or at the glasses perched on a sharp nose. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Jeralt demanded, glaring at the slightly upturned brown eyes and high cheekbones, the rather aquiline face that seemed to make up every noble scholar or monk he’d ever met. 

The man lifted his hand and chanted, arcane sigils flaring to life and eliciting an alarmed shout from the foreigners. Then magic burst from his fingers, flittering about and settling into the sand. 

“Uh, what did you just do?” Jeralt asked. 

“He’s speaking Greek!” the foreigners’ lines erupted in a hubbub that Jeralt could actually understand now. 

What the hell? 

“Ah-ha!” the reedy scholar crowed. “My translation spell was a success! Let’s see those snobs back at the Magic Academy look down at me now!” 

Translation spell? That was a bit too convenient for Jeralt’s liking. And what the hell was this ‘Greek’ thing that the foreigners were spouting? 

“Magic?” 

“A gift from the gods?” 

Jeralt tried to raise his voice over the barrage of chatter erupting from the startled soldiers, only for someone else to beat him to it. 

“SILENCE!” one of the foreigners bellowed, his troops immediately clamming up as the speaker broke from their formation. “Who are you? Where are we?” 

“We’re mercenaries, hired by the nearby village to make sure you’re not pirates,” Jeralt answered. “As for where you are: you’re in the western edges of Fodlan.” 

“Where in Hades is Fodlan?” the one who’d stepped forward demanded. 

“Hey, whose kid is this?” another foreigner asked, Jeralt’s blood turning to ice in his veins. 

Byleth had somehow gotten over to their formation and was tapping his fingers on one of their shields, completely ignoring the spears leveled at him. 

“Is this bronze?” he asked, looking up at the soldier whose shield he was prodding. 

“Kid!” Jeralt’s instincts flared, wanting him to immediately rush forward, but his veteran’s mind barked at him to not move. 

Charging headlong at that wall of spears would be suicide. 

The speaker for the foreigners gave a bark of laughter and crouched to look at Byleth, setting his shield and spear against the sand as he did. “Well, now, you’re a fearless one! Not just anyone would walk right up to a phalanx of Spartans!” 

Spartans, they were called Spartans. Now, get the kid away from there! 

“What’s your name, fearless one?” the Spartan asked. 

“Byleth,” the kid answered, his blank stare roaming over the muscular warrior. “You look strong.” 

“We’re the strongest there is! Mightiest warriors in all of Greece!” the Spartan boasted. “My name is Podiarches. Our polemarch died in the wreck, so it’s fallen to me to lead these miserable wretches.” 

“Greece? Polemarch?” Byleth cocked his head curiously. “So, you’re not pirates?” 

The Spartan laughed again, his fellows slowly relaxing their formation and raising their spears. “If we’re pirates, then the Persians are the rulers of all Greece!” 

Jeralt sighed and shook his head. “We don’t know what either of those are, my friend.” 

Podiarches nodded, making the crest on his helmet sway. “Right, right! Now, since it’s been established that we aren’t going to kill each other, let us get out of Hades’s infernal heat, shall we?” 

Jeralt didn’t know who Hades was, but he was happy to agree with that. 

“Come on, let’s get out of the sun and get a drink, huh?” he pointed at the preening mage who still looked far too proud of himself. “You too, mage: I have a feeling we’re going to need your spell.” 

“W-what? Oh, um, of course you will!” he puffed out his thin chest, making a show of ignoring the sweat pouring down his face and soaking his robes. 

Hours later, sequestered in one of the stuffy makeshift tents the Spartans had erected in the shade of a cluster of trees, Jeralt listened intently as Podiarches told his story. 

The Spartans had been sailing in pursuit of a vessel belonging to an enemy of theirs, another city-state called Athens, when both ships had been hit by a freak storm. The Athenians had been sunk almost immediately, but the Spartan ship had soldiered through the towering waves and pelting rain until they’d been dashed against rocks. Their trireme, as they called their ship, had somehow gotten wrenched off the rocks by a rogue wave, whereupon it was smashed upon the beach in the state it was in now. 

And then the storm had vanished as if it had never been there to begin with, and here they were. 

“We lost almost all of our troops, and the rowers didn’t make it,” the Spartan sighed. “Those who didn’t die on impact drowned. At least those cowardly Athenians were all taken by Poseidon.” 

“Well, we’re certainly a long way away from Greece, but I have to admit I’m surprised that you’ve never heard of magic,” Jeralt took a swig of his waterskin, trying not to gag at the warmth that trickled down his throat. “It’s pretty common knowledge everywhere, really.” 

“Perhaps Hecate is fickler with her blessings than we thought, or maybe we Greeks just don’t have the ability to use it,” Podiarches shrugged, swallowing some wine from a bottle. “Either way, we Spartans have no need of it! We’re soldiers, not cowards!” 

Right, they put more emphasis on physical prowess and military might than intellectual pursuits, if the warrior’s proud boasting of his home’s power had said much. 

The hanging entrance of the tent rustled to let in a rather small form wearing a bronze helmet about ten sizes too large for his head. 

“Kid, where’d you get that?” Jeralt sighed, glancing at Podiarches to gauge his reaction. 

“Timotheos gave it to me,” Byleth answered, holding the helmet up with his small hands to allow his empty blue eyes to peek out. “He said if I trained hard enough, I could become as powerful as a Spartan someday.” 

“How old are you, Byleth?” Podiarches spoke up, his thoughtful tone immediately putting Jeralt on edge. 

“Seven,” Byleth answered. “I think.” 

Well, at least the kid knew, right? Jeralt had long given up on trying to keep up with age: his or the kid’s. 

Podiarches chuckled. “The perfect age! You show no fear or hesitation, just like a true Spartan would!” 

“What are you planning?” Jeralt growled 

“As much as I’d like to say that we need to return home, we are in no state to make such a claim,” the Spartan sighed, slumping against the box he was sitting on, his helmet still covering most of his face. “Our ship is destroyed and everyone who survived did so by the skin of their teeth and because we were above decks when we crashed. We’re not shipwrights or sailors: we don’t know the first thing about building or sailing ships.” 

“Someone could come looking for you?” Jeralt guessed, but the Spartan shook his head. 

“Doubt it: we’re at war, and ships are lost every single day. We’re just going to be considered more casualties and left at that,” Podiarches folded his muscular arms before his chest, his bronze cuirass forged in the likeness of taut muscular abs. “As much as I want to return home to bring honor to Sparta on the battlefield, it’s likely that won’t happen for quite some time.” 

“So, what are you going to do?” Jeralt asked, fully aware of Byleth staring at them, still wearing that too-large helmet. 

“Well, given that returning to Sparta is out of the question for now, and we’re trapped in a foreign land filled with things that make my head hurt, I think it would be a good idea to stick with you, work for you and so on,” Podiarches announced, Jeralt just barely catching his jaw before it hit the floor. 

“You want... to join my mercenary company?” he frowned. “But we don’t even speak the same language and I don’t know how long this spell is going to last.” 

“Maybe we could get the skinny thinker to come with us?” 

“I think Argo would like that,” Byleth spoke up. “He did seem very interested in learning more about the Spartans.” 

“Argo? His name is already quite the good omen!” Podiarches gave a boisterous laugh. “Just like the legendary ship of Jason!” 

“I’m not going to ask,” Jeralt muttered. “Alright, if you’re going to join my company, I assume you want to be paid?” 

Surprise sparked through him when the Spartan shook his head. “We Spartans don’t care much for wealth, but perhaps we could come to an arrangement in regards to quartering and food.” 

“Let’s hear it,” Jeralt steepled his hands, trying desperately to ignore the oppressive heat and the sweat pouring down his body. 

“Our strength will be yours to use as you see fit, within reason, and all we require in return is some supplies. We can sleep in our cloaks so we won’t need tents, although we are also better at using weapons than repairing them...” 

Jeralt snorted. “You and everyone else in the company. The village blacksmiths we come across get wealthy from repairing all of our gear, if I’m being honest.” 

Podiarches laughed, his crest swaying as he gave an enthusiastic nod. “Indeed! So, are supplies in return for joining acceptable terms?” 

“I think we can make that work,” Jeralt nodded. “Since I won’t have to figure out how to pay twenty extra people gold I don’t have.” 

“Twenty-three,” Podiarches corrected, his gaze hardening from beneath his helmet. “We have no need of drachmae.” 

Coins from his homeland, maybe. 

Jeralt extended his hand, which the Spartan gripped in a bone-crushing grasp. 

“You’re joining us?” Byleth asked once the men released one another. “Do you think you can teach me to be as strong as you?” 

Podiarches looked at Jeralt, who shrugged as logistics and figures again ran rampant through his mind. 

“Go ahead. With all the work I have to do keeping this damn company running, I barely have time to train the kid, myself.” 

Podiarches laughed and thrust his hand out to the kid. “Let’s see if we cannot make a proper Spartan out of you yet, boy!” 

Jeralt sighed, hoping he wouldn’t regret this decision. 

Really, how bad could Spartan training be? 

________________________ 

Jeralt quickly came to regret letting Podiarches train the kid: Spartan training involved having Byleth run laps over jagged rocks while barefoot, until he finished or until his feet were sliced open. The kid never cried or complained, but Jeralt had been ready to throw those damn foreigners out of camp the first time he saw Byleth’s bloodied feet. 

“Father, if this will allow me to become as strong as them, then I will endure it,” the kid had assured him after he’d dragged a medic over to heal the cut flesh. “I am already growing stronger.” 

Jeralt had later demanded that Podiarches ease up on the kid, but the Spartan had assured him that this harsh training was normal. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep the boy in one piece!” Podiarches had assured him, completely oblivious to how Timotheos and another Spartan were smacking Byleth with sticks in an attempt to correct his spearwork. 

Jeralt looked at the bruises forming on his son, admitting that he was impressed with the kid’s resilience as he weathered the blows without complaint. 

“Captain! We need you to look at these!” a mercenary announced. “And Argo wants to talk to you!” 

Damn it. 

“If you kill the kid, you’re next,” Jeralt growled before his duties once again took him away from his son. 

“Widen your spacing! Ground yourself, boy!” came a shout from one of the Spartans. 

_____________________ 

“Uh, sir? We might have an issue,” one of Jeralt’s female mercenaries entered his tent, her cheeks tinted a very light pink. 

Jeralt sighed and set down his quill, all too glad to ignore all this damn paperwork for a few moments. “Is it the Spartans? Have they started another brawl in town again?” 

“Yes and no,” the mercenary shook her head. “They’re, um, training.” 

“Just training?” 

“Um, yes, but they’re doing it by the spring providing the village with its water,” the mercenary explained. “Just come look, okay?” 

Well, how bad could it be? 

Jeralt found himself wishing he hadn’t thought that minutes later as he entered the clearing where the twenty-three buck-naked Spartans were training with spears and swords in front of a glittering spring. 

Many of the hoplites wore their long hair in braids, but it was a little hard to focus on those while their manhoods were on full display. And while women from the village, and some men, were ogling them openly, many of the onlookers giving off appreciative noises or calls. 

And the worst part? Byleth was with them, training as well, but thankfully the kid was wearing a red tunic. 

Actually, no: the worst part was that scrawny mage, Argo, sweating and trying to be dignified as his stick-thin body showed off everything while he tried to emulate the Spartan spear movements. 

Jeralt buried his face into his hands. Why did he have to deal with this? 

______________________ 

When Byleth was around ten or so, Jeralt was finally alerted to the fact that all the villages they visited complained of missing food. He’d talked to the townspeople, who’d accused someone from the mercenary company of the thefts, but Jeralt had managed to convince them that the thieves were just street urchins trying to fill their bellies. 

He hadn’t thought much of it until he’d heard one of the Spartans talking back at camp. 

“The kid’s doing well. Nobody’s caught him for years,” the foreigner was musing, which made Jeralt’s blood run cold. 

“He’s quiet and strong, and these past three years have really begun to shape him into a proper Spartan!” another Greek chimed in. 

“So, Byleth’s been the one stealing from the stalls,” Jeralt entered their part of camp, immediately having Spartan spear heads thrust into his face. 

“Oh, sorry, boss!” the two Spartans lowered their weapons, at least having the presence of mind to look abashed from beneath their helmets, their muscled breastplates gleaming in the sun. “Yeah, it’s part of teaching kids in the agoge to learn to scavenge and forage by stealing. This also teaches him how to move quietly in enemy territory.” 

Jeralt sighed, holding a hand to the bridge of his nose as he exhaled slowly. “Just don’t get caught: I don’t want to have to pay for stolen goods.” 

He already had too much nonsense to deal with, like paying that prick, Argo, for his translation services. Bastard refused to teach the company’s mages the damn spell, claiming he couldn’t risk them stealing credit for it before the Mage’s Academy gave it to him. 

Apparently, Argo had been trying to secure passage to Brigid in order to test out a spell designed to make any spoken language sound like the person’s own tongue. He’d been denied, but rumors of a foreign ship crashing onto a nearby shore had spurred him to investigate, which had led to him into the middle of the Spartan confrontation against Jeralt’s company. 

Despite his somewhat snobby manner, the man had a good heart to go with his keen intellect. 

Jeralt only wished he didn’t have to pay the mage so much. 

___________________ 

Not even months later, Jeralt was trying not to strangle Timotheos as the two watched a young Byleth climb a ragged cliff barehanded, clad in nothing but a red tunic. 

“I am going to kill you if he falls,” Jeralt snarled at the Spartan next to him, who guffawed. 

His tanned skin matched his curly brown hair and sharp eyes, his beard unkempt but not too wild as he grinned a gap-toothed grin at Jeralt. “Relax, boss! The kid’s climbed far worse than this! His hands and feet are stronger than ever!” 

“And why is it that he’s been sporting new bruises and scars?” Jeralt asked, rage and concern bubbling inside of his veins. 

“Spartan training is harsh, but it creates perfect soldiers unmatched by any in Greece or Fodlan!” Timotheos crowed. “He’s already able to withstand extreme heat and cold, run faster and hit harder than anyone else his age, and his work with a spear and shield has improved greatly!” 

Good grief, how much of this training had Jeralt not been able to witness if it was beating the hell out of his son? There were many days he regretted taking on the Spartans, but their unmatched ability on the battlefields chased those doubts away each time. 

Once their shining bronze phalanx advanced in the right positions, everyone they targeted would either die, flee, or beg for mercy. The mercenaries would cover the Spartan flanks to ensure they weren’t hit from their vulnerable sides or rear, and the contracts were usually completed with no casualties. 

“If you hurt him severely,” Jeralt started. 

“I know, I know: you’ll kill us,” Timotheos finished, grinning again. 

“Damn right.” 

____________________ 

This last contract had been brutal: a group of rogue mages had been terrorizing a village and extorting merchants on the roads around it. Bastards had already torched fields or shredded homes with their spells, and a merchant caravan had finally contracted Jeralt’s company to deal with it. 

It had started easily enough: tracking down the arrogant mages to their hideout, demanding they surrender, then the inevitable clash when they refused. The mercenaries had begun mowing down the mages while mostly dodging their spells, but the leader of the rogues had taken aim at the phalanx of Spartans bearing down upon him. 

Fire had exploded in the middle of the tightly packed formation, with Jeralt only able to think ‘Ragnarok’ before the Spartans broke apart and scattered, several of them trying to douse the flames devouring their flesh. Fear had rippled through his mind, cold panic yanking on his heart until he’d glimpsed Byleth scrambling to safety, slapping a borrowed red cloak at a screaming Spartan whose tunic and leather cuirass was aflame. 

He’d survived with a few minor burns, thank whatever god was watching over them. 

And now, Jeralt was watching as the surviving Spartans lit the bodies of their fallen brethren upon pyres, lighting up the night with warm blazes as smoke rose into the dark skies. 

For some strange reason, Jeralt could have sworn that something shiny was gleaming over each of the bodies’ eyes, lit up by the firelight. 

“We lost fourteen to that spell,” Podiarches said bitterly as he strode up to Jeralt, his mouth a tight line. “Over half of what we had left. May they find Elysium in Hades’s realm.” 

“I’m sorry. They were all good men,” Jeralt could see Byleth among the Spartans, silently thanking whatever god was listening again that the kid hadn’t gotten hurt. 

“I just wish I could have sent them to the Underworld at home, with the winds of Greece to guide them to Charon’s ferry,” Podiarches sighed. “Although, I am glad that Byleth wasn’t among the ones slain. He’s been performing impressively, like Herakles himself.” 

“Right,” Jeralt nodded, not remembering what that name meant. 

His ancient mind had forgotten most everything the Spartans had talked to him about regarding their home and legends, save for some stories about the war they’d fought in. 

“He is a fine hoplite, one of the best I’ve ever seen, and I think it did the men good to have him to train, to remember the ways of Sparta,” Podiarches kept talking, perhaps unaware of Jeralt zoning out. “They miss their home, though they won’t easily show it, and now that they’ve lost men they’ve fought alongside for years in this strange land of magic and monsters...” 

“I’ve been asking my contacts along the Empire’s coast if they’d learned something else about Greece, but they said they’ve never heard anything about it,” Jeralt spoke up, watching as his son interacted with the Spartans, clapping their armored backs or speaking to them. 

“I know. Some of the men are still hoping to return home someday, but now... I think we’ve all accepted that we’re going to die someday in Fodlan,” Podiarches sighed, planting his spear into the ground as he stared at the blazing pyres. “I’m not as... eloquent with my words as an Athenian would be, but I wanted to thank you for accepting my men and I into your company. You gave us a chance that most others wouldn’t have.” 

Jeralt nodded, remembering Rhea and how the archbishop had given him his life back. She’d done something to Byleth, he knew it, but it seemed his lack of a heartbeat also gave him higher resilience to the world around him. Jeralt still didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing. 

“Well, it gives Argo a reason to stick around, no matter how much he complains about the uncivilized behavior of the company,” Jeralt chuckled, making Podiarches do the same. 

“He’s got a good brain but not a very strong body, that one,” the Spartan remarked. 

“Indeed,” what else was going to happen now? 

As if on cue, a mercenary dashed up to him, panting from the run. “Captain! We’re missing twenty-eight gold pieces from the company funds! We’re looking for the thief now! They couldn’t have gone far!” 

Twenty-eight? 

Jeralt scowled at Podiarches, whose weathered and beaten face was looking between the two mercenaries in confusion. 

“What? My fallen men need something to pay Charon with for the ferry into the Underworld,” the Spartan explained. “Two coins for passage to paradise!” 

That explained why the fallen Spartans’ eyes had been gleaming in the firelight. 

Jeralt sighed and shook his head: he needed a drink. 

__________________ 

The decade of harsh, brutal training was showing on Byleth more than ever: his skin was tanned from years of being subjected to the elements, rough with calluses, scars, and wear from the beatings he’d endured. His body was rippling with taut muscles that rivaled even the oldest of the Spartan’s, which had proven invaluable in their frequent wrestling matches and drills. Byleth had even started keeping his blue hair longer, in Greek style, with a few braids on the back, though he still couldn’t grow any facial hair. 

Jeralt watched with no small amount of pride as Podiarches presented the ashen-faced Byleth with a gleaming set of Spartan armor salvaged from their wrecked ship and maintained over the long years: the muscled bronze cuirass, rock-hard vambraces and greaves, and studded sandals. A long Spartan spear and rounded hoplon were next to be presented, the shield painted black with a red Spartan lambda, which looked like an upside-down V, on the front of it. 

“Now, for these!” Timotheos held out a crested helmet along with one of the vicious curved swords favored by this group of Spartans. 

Byleth had used their equipment before in battle or in their intensive and grueling phalanx drills, but it had always been borrowed and returned after everything was done. And it was always the heavier bronze armor, too, especially if Byleth had to run laps in full armor for the day. 

They’d done well throughout their travels across Fodlan, Jeralt had to admit, each of the surviving Spartans having more than earned his respect for their abilities. A few of them still complained about wanting to return to Sparta, but they seemed to have acclimated to living in Fodlan at long last. It only took over a decade of complaining, stirring up trouble, and beating each other senseless with sticks, blunted weapons, or their own fists. 

They’d gotten the company kicked out of towns countless times for starting brawls, giving Jeralt an even nastier headache than usual each time he had to pay for damages. Not to mention the spurned men and women who sometimes trailed the company, begging a Spartan they’d slept with to stay with them forever. Apparently, Greece was far freer in that regard than Fodlan was at the moment. Jeralt almost envied them. 

And now his son, about maybe twenty or twenty-one years old, had been finally admitted as a proper Spartan warrior. They’d started calling him a man on his eighteenth birthday but had only now been accepted as a fully-fledged soldier. 

Had it really been over a decade since they’d first met the foreign warriors? Even the uptight Argo had loosened up enough to teach the company mages how to cast his translation spell, saying that he’d learned enough about Sparta and Greece to last a dozen lifetimes mucking it with the mercenaries. 

Jeralt still didn’t remember if he’d ever gotten credit for that spell of his. And apparently Argo had once gotten into an argument with one of the Spartans for trying to teach Byleth how to use white magic: supposedly the kid showed quite a proficiency in it. 

“He’s turned into quite the soldier, huh?” Baron rumbled from next to Jeralt. “Seems like it was just yesterday that we were charging onto that beach and finding those foreigners.” 

“It does, indeed,” Jeralt agreed. 

Baron shrugged his massive shoulders. “You know, I heard the Spartans would have a newly declared soldier head out into the countryside to kill a helot by way of graduating into full manhood.” 

“The hell is a helot?” Jeralt frowned, though the term did sound vaguely familiar. 

“Spartan slaves,” Baron answered, the bitterness in his voice easily reflecting in Jeralt himself. 

“Ah, right. They kept slaves...” one of the few things he hadn’t respected about Sparta, now that he remembered. 

“Your memory failing you again, boss?” Baron teased, earning a grunt from the captain. “Honestly: I don’t think you’d remember the kid’s age if the Spartans weren’t keeping track of it. They practically raised him.” 

Yeah... they had. They’d trained Byleth, fought with him, ate and drank with him, and had grown alongside the kid while Jeralt was busy running the damn mercenary company or drinking himself into a stupor when they had the money. 

Guilt and... regret continued to plague him. Jeralt doubted it would ever truly go away. Had he been a bad father in letting the Spartans raise his kid while he had to run the company? Had he just abandoned the kid? 

“Father?” Byleth strode up to him, decked out in his new shiny bronze armor as his spear and shield gleamed in his hands, his new sword hanging from his waist. “Do we have any contracts?” 

Jeralt nodded, chasing away that doubt as he recalled the farmer who’d contracted their services in chasing away a pack of wolves from the nearby village. “Yeah, we’re going to a place called Remire Village for a while. Get everyone ready to move out.” 

“Yes, Father,” Byleth hurried off, the mercenary company calling out congratulations and slapping his back as he moved through their ranks. 

Remire Village... hopefully this contract wouldn’t be anything too unusual. 


	2. The Three Nobles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The contract is complete and with another in hand, Byleth Eisner and his father's mercenaries make ready to depart, only for three desperate nobles to enter the village, begging for aid.

Vast armies once again marched to the tone of thunderous footfalls and rattling armor, the screams of thousands of voices filling the air as the ground shook to its very firmament. Byleth watched in silence as great waves of humanity, armed to the teeth and screaming their hearts out, slammed into one another with a virulent crash, weapons and armor flashing on the muddy plains as neat military lines descended into a chaotic tangle of heaving, shoving, and graceless mass murder. 

He’d seen this hundreds of times before, but it was still almost invigorating to watch as a glowing red meteor slammed into one of the armies and exploded in fire, a titanic warrior in black armor that kept his muscled and scarred chest bare pulling a sword from the ensuing crater. Red lights like stars flared to life around the battlefield, their sources impossible to discern among the carnage as men and beasts fought and died in the hundreds, maybe thousands, around him. 

He watched as the man named Nemesis and the woman named Seiros fought, with Nemesis losing yet again as the smaller green-haired woman stabbed his broad chest again and again with a gleaming dagger. She cradled that bloody, unusual sword Nemesis had used to her chest, rubbing her cheek against its bloodstained blade. 

“He’s gone, Mother,” she whispered, and then the war faded. 

Byleth was standing in the dark room yet again, the unusual green stones lit up by sconces and braziers with similarly emerald-hued flames. He looked up the stairway towering above him, to where a simple throne of the same green stone rested on a dais. 

The girl was there, as she always was, her unusual dress bunched up around her like a blanket as she huddled in her seat, her head resting on the armrest while using her own limbs as a pillow, the small triangle of her unusual pointed ear jutting into the air above her. She was sleeping, as she always was, her small chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of her breathing. 

Byleth had given up on trying to wake her up years ago: she never stirred, no matter how loudly he called out to her, and something was preventing him from moving from his spot. He was pinned down, no matter how strong he’d become, almost as if he wasn’t ready for whatever this girl was. 

Or maybe it was because she wasn’t ready to wake up? 

Byleth looked around, wondering how long he would be here before returning to the waking world. The wolf contract in Remire Village might have been completed, but his father had already secured another contract in the Kingdom: some noble house called Gaudy or something of the sort was having trouble with bandits. They were to leave soon and head northeast, towards the family’s territory, come morning. 

A yawn drew his battle instincts to full alert, the weight of his bronze armor barely noticeable as Byleth crouched and held his fists up in a defensive stance. 

“Oh my!” the girl was awake, wide green eyes of a lighter shade than her dark waves of hair staring down at him. “What could have brought you here?” 

He stared up at her through the visor of his helmet, the metal a cold yet comforting weight upon his head as he kept himself ready to lunge at any threat that could present itself. 

“I wonder how you got in here... It is most rude to interrupt a moment of repose!” drowsy wonder yielded to indignity almost immediately. “Most rude, indeed! Now come to me: I wish to have a look at you.” 

His body unlocked, his legs tugging him forward a couple steps even as his arms remained raised in preparation to fight. The training pounded into him was hard to suppress. 

“Hmm, I have not seen the likes of you before,” the girl mused, sitting up straight as she examined him from head to toe. “What unusual armor you are wearing! Who are you, anyway?” 

“I’m a soldier,” Byleth answered, the words escaping his throat before he knew what was happening. 

“I see,” the girl mused, now leaning on her arm and resting her head against her palm. “Then you must have a name of sorts. Go on.” 

Her imperious and commanding nature spoke of a person used to having authority, her unwavering gaze radiating power as it remained fixated upon Byleth. 

“Byleth,” he answered, lowering his fists as his instincts finally relaxed enough to allow him a reprise. 

The girl smiled and straightened, a curious look on her face as she exhaled in a small huff. “Huh, I shall not ever grow accustomed to the sound of human names. You must have a day of birth as well. Beneath which moon and on what day were you born to this world?” 

“Father always told me I was born on the twelfth of the Red Wolf Moon,” Byleth answered. 

Why all these questions? Who was this girl? And why was she awake after years of undisturbed slumber? 

“Well, wonders never cease!” she said with wide eyes coupled with the amazed expression on her face. “It seems we share our day of birth. How strange!” 

Her expression shifted to weariness, Byleth’s own body suddenly being weighed down with exhaustion and nearly making him pass out right then and there. His legs spread out to brace him, his hands extending to catch himself should he fall. 

“Hmm. It all feels so... familiar,” the girl yawned, her voice slurring a bit from her drowsiness as she fought to keep her eyes open. “I think it may be time for yet another nap... It is almost... time to... begin.” 

“Hey, time to wake up,” his father’s voice filled the dream, which faded to darkness before Byleth pried his eyes open. 

He was laying on his back in the town’s inn, the bronze armor chafing his body as he shifted to push himself up. 

“You didn’t have to sleep in your armor, you know,” Jeralt was standing over him in full armor as well, his face grim and serious. “How did you even sleep with that helmet on, too?” 

“I must always be prepared for battle,” Byleth repeated the words pounded and beaten into him, his body marred with the reminders of the times that lesson had been administered over the years. “I don’t want to be caught off-guard should an enemy attack the company.” 

He pushed himself to stand, his sandals hitting the worn wooden floor as his greave-covered legs took the weight of his body. His curved kopis, long doru, and round hoplon were leaning against a nearby wall, next to one of the bookcases, their surfaces freshly cleaned and oiled to the point where the bronze and steel were gleaming. 

“Still, you don’t have to always be on guard,” Jeralt sighed, frowning as he studied Byleth’s face. “Were you having that dream again?” 

“About the war and the young girl?” Byleth nodded. 

“Yeah, you’ve described her and that war: massive armies clashing on a vast field, right? There hasn’t been a battle like that in over three centuries... In any case, just put that out of your mind for now. The battlefield is no place for idle thoughts,” Jeralt sighed and shrugged, his gaze roaming over his son a moment longer. “Risking your life is part of the job for mercenaries like us. Letting your mind wander is a sure way to get yourself killed.” 

A lesson Podiarches and Timotheos had been quick to instill into Byleth from a very young age. Distractions got yourself and the people beside you killed. The narrow view provided by his helmet was perfect for negating distractions: he could see in front of him and focus utterly on killing whatever enemy lay in his path. 

“Time to get moving,” Jeralt nodded to Byleth’s gear. “Grab your cloak, too: The Kingdom’s cold year-round, but the holdings of House Gautier are known for their bitter climate.” 

Ah, it was Gautier, not Gaudy. No matter: Byleth would go and kill whoever or whatever he was told to kill. He was born and trained to fight and his body had been honed into a lethal weapon through over a decade of brutal training and ceaseless violence. This was his purpose. 

“I told you before: it’s far from here, so we’ll need to leave at dawn,” Jeralt nodded. “Everyone is already waiting for us outside.” 

Right at that moment, the door was flung open to admit one of the other mercenaries, his plate armor gleaming in the dull light provided by the windows and candles. “Jeralt! Sir! Sorry to barge in, but your presence is needed.” 

“What’s happened?” Jeralt asked, any fatherly concern immediately giving way to the stoic professional. 

Byleth was more used to seeing this side of his father, to be honest. He could follow such a commander, but he never knew what to do during the rare occasions when Jeralt tried being more... parent-like. Timotheos and Podiarches had always been stern instructors, as had the other Spartans, but they’d always eaten with him after the hard day’s training, always treated him like an equal, a son, even. 

“There are some... nobles at the entrance to the village,” the mercenary informed them. “They say they’re in danger, that they were just chased here from the forest.” 

“Chased here?” Jeralt sighed. “And they likely led their pursuers to the village. Alright, let’s see them.” 

Byleth looped his sword belt around the leather strips comprising his belt and tightened the straps, the weight familiar and comforting as the weapon settled itself against his waist. He slipped his left arm through the leather loop strap on his shield as his callused fingers closed around the rough iron grip of the handle. He tightened the strap on his forearm with his free hand before grabbing the worn leather grip of his spear, the material rubbing against his skin. 

“Ready?” Jeralt asked. 

Byleth nodded, no words necessary as he followed his father outside. It was cold and dark, but the almost blackened blue skies were slowly lightening as the sun’s fiery hues began to peek over the horizon. Torches were lit throughout the village and the forest outside the gates to provide light until the sun fully rose, so Byleth could clearly see the rest of the company clustered around the entrance square. And he had a prime view of Argo wiping his eyes, the mage’s voice raised into a complaint that always followed him being forced to awaken at such an ungodly hour. He’d get over it, he always did. 

Byleth and Jeralt were led towards the square, Byleth nodding to the nine remaining Spartans who’d raised and trained him as they lifted their spears in acknowledgement. Podiarches grinned at him, the grey in his dark beard easy to pick out from where he stood beside the three strangers. 

The nobles, Byleth guessed, frowning as he realized something: they were all much younger than he’d expected. The trio, two boys and one girl, were all wearing some sort of black uniform with elaborate gold threading and highlights, each one marred with dirt and grass stains. They also wore a shoulder cape of differing colors: gold, blue, and red, the expressions on their faces similarly varying. 

“Please forgive our intrusion,” the tallest of the trio, the blue boy with equally azure eyes and scraggly blonde hair, bowed, his pale face serious as he bent his broadly built body into a bow. “We wouldn’t bother you were the situation not dire.” 

Jeralt grunted. “What do a bunch of kids like you want at this hour?” 

If the boy took offense, he didn’t show it. “We’re being pursued by a group of bandits. I can only hope that you will be so kind as to lend your support.” 

“Bandits? Here?” one of the other mercenaries muttered. “We’re in the middle of rutting nowhere.” 

Jeralt glared at the speaker, who wisely kept any further comment to himself. 

“It’s true,” the girl with the red cape spoke up, her long white hair frayed in several places as she nodded, holding a delicate gloved hand up to the torn cravat hanging from below her throat. “They attacked us while we were at rest in our camp.” 

Her face reminded Byleth of one of those dolls he’d seen in town a while ago: porcelain skin almost too pretty to be real with piercing eyes that seemed to follow you everywhere. Her striking violet eyes bore into him, brimming with authority despite the fact that she was here begging for aide. She would be a dangerous one, for certain, Byleth felt. 

“We’ve been separated from our companions and we’re outnumbered,” the dark-skinned boy with impish green eyes and untamed black hair explained, his gaze sweeping over the mercenaries. “they’re after our lives... not to mention our gold.” 

He was a smart one. Mentioning gold could mean a potential payment in return for protection. This one was craftier than he appeared: he was likely already planning an escape route that potentially meant utilizing the mercenaries as living shields. 

“I’m impressed you’re staying so calm considering the situation,” Jeralt commented, earning a nod from Byleth. “I... wait. That uniform...” 

Did he recognize it? How? Byleth had never seen it before in his life. Or had he? 

“Bandits spotted just outside the village!” one of the mercenaries shouted. “Damn, there are a lot of them!” 

Byleth peered past the narrow gates providing entry to the village and caught sight of dark forms shuffling through the forest, along with a glint of metal as someone passed by the torches leading to the town’s sole watchtower. Leaves rustled and branches snapped, followed by a grunt or curse from the bodies heaving their way through the brush. 

“Damn it, where are those brats?!” a rough voice spat. 

“Over there! In that village!” 

“Kill them all!” 

Jeralt sighed. “I was right: they followed you all the way here. We can’t abandon this village now. Let’s move!” 

“Wait!” Podiarches stepped forward, the shite-eating grin and the gleam in his eyes warning Byleth that his former instructor had a crazy idea. 

And his crazy ideas normally involved having Byleth do something extremely dangerous. 

“Podiarches, what is it?” Jeralt growled. “If we’re to protect these people, we need to move before the bandits get into the village.” 

“We’ll form up at the gates and keep them out,” the Spartan nodded at the narrow entrance, which was the only way to enter or leave the village as it was surrounded by a ten-foot wooden wall meant to keep out predators. “But our newest graduate has yet to prove himself as a true soldier of Sparta!” 

“Sparta?” the noble girl wondered. 

“Shhh, this sounds interesting,” the gold boy hissed. 

“Byleth, it is time to prove yourself!” Podiarches declared, his voice booming throughout the village. “While we defend the town gates, you go out and deal with those ruffians!” 

“Alone?!” the blue boy spluttered, his eyes wide. “That’s suicide! If you have an extra lance, I will fight with you!” 

Byleth shrugged. “It will be done.” 

“Eh?!” his father and the golden noble were almost in perfect sync with their stunned cries. 

Even the imperious girl had let her stony expression falter, her lips parting into a faint gasp. 

“These are bandits: they don’t look well-armed or even well trained,” Byleth strode towards the gates, his gaze already set onto the closest gaggle of encroaching brigands. “They don’t present much of a threat.” 

“That’s my boy!” Timotheos laughed. 

“Kid!” Jeralt tried to follow him, if those hesitant footsteps said anything, but the Spartans filed into the gate’s narrow confine and readied their phalanx, leaving a gap for him to go through. 

Byleth strode out of the village, breathing in the crisp morning air as he peered through his helmet at the approaching bandits. 

“Kill them all! I want the heads of those brats!” a gruff voice screamed from further in the forest. “Loot the village, too! Take everything they’ve got!” 

Maybe the leader: a coward hiding in the forest while his men threw their lives away. 

The closest trio of bandits roared and sprinted forward, shoving one another in their haste to get to their perceived prey. Their dirty and poorly maintained leather armor and clothing would provide little protection against Byleth’s spear, he mused as he eased himself into a stance preferable for battle, holding his hoplon out before him with the doru resting on top of it. 

He spread his feet to steady himself, then tightened his grip on the spear. 

The first bandit of the unorganized charge got in reach, and Byleth advanced, thrusting with all the strength he could muster. The gleaming leaf-shaped head of his spear plunged into the man’s throat, the dead weight of his corpse settling upon Byleth’s arms as the impact drew a shudder up his limbs. 

With practiced speed and precision, Byleth darted to the side while yanking his spear free, the edge of a bandit’s blade scraping his concave shield before the assailant was impaled upon a second thrust. The third bandit lingered just in the very edges of Byleth’s helmet-obscured vision, his eyes narrowed as cracked teeth more akin to gravestones were bared in an enraged snarl. 

“I’m gonna gut you, worm!” even his breath stunk like death, his muscular body covered in dirt and grime. 

The bandit was clearly used to threatening unarmed passerby: his footwork was sloppy and the way he was brandishing his sword in an attempt to appear threatening was almost disappointing to behold. 

Byleth stormed forward, the bandit’s body slamming into his shield as the breath left his body in a painful sounding whoosh. The brigand hit the ground hard, his wheezes filling the forest before Byleth finished him off with a quick thrust through the chest. 

More bodies crashed through the undergrowth, followed by swearing and curses. Byleth turned to face them, letting his years of training guide every movement. The bandits swarmed out in an unorganized rabble, shouting and swearing each step of the way. 

Byleth’s feet moved on their own, his shield holding strong as weapons scraped against its surface while his spear punched through leather and flesh with each thrust or swing. Five more bandits lay dead before the others tried to abort their assault, but Byleth was already plowing shield first into their ranks, bowling them down with the sheer size and weight of his equipment. 

He jabbed quickly into the vitals of the fallen brigands before they could get back up, putting them down for good. 

“Die, damn you!” a scream from behind and the crunch of stone beneath a boot made Byleth pivot on his feet as fast as he could, his shield slamming into another body with an audible crack as bone yielded to bronze and steel as hard as a rock. 

The bandit tumbled onto the ground, kicking up dirt as he did, and Byleth strode forward to put an end to him. The brigand was moaning pitifully as he tried to move, clutching at an arm that was clearly shattered as it lay limply next to him. 

Byleth stood over him, scanning the treeline for any further threats. 

“Damn, why are there mercenaries in the village?!” an outraged roar flitted from the hidden leader. 

Bit off more than they could chew, apparently. 

Byleth held the sarouter, the spiked metal butt of his spear, over the groaning bandit and ended his suffering with a quick jab downwards, flesh squelching as he pulled the weapon free. He’d gotten lucky: this guy had given away his location with a scream rather than burying his blade into Byleth’s vulnerable back. 

That was the downside of the helmet’s narrow field of view: he couldn’t use his peripheral vision to locate threats to the sides. Ordinarily, other hoplites in the formation would cover those sides, but he was alone here. 

He would have to be more careful. 

“Nicely done, Byleth! Keep it up!” Timotheos approved, his cheer followed by a hoarse shout of approval from the other Spartans. 

“That guy is something else,” he heard one of the noble boys mutter- maybe the golden one? 

“He is, indeed,” the girl agreed, her voice tinted with grudging respect. 

Byleth could see more dark forms approaching from the trees, a burly man in ratty leather armor with a fur collar at their lead. 

“Hey, you with the blank stare! Outta my way!” the brute’s greasy black hair was tied back into a short tail to keep it out of his eyes, his axe stained with blood that appeared to have dried recently. 

Byleth’s only answer was to assume his stance again, spear and shield ready to receive more. 

Rustling from the brush to his left made him glance over to see four more bandits emerging from the growth, lips twisted into sneers as they brandished their swords. None of them had an understanding of personal hygiene, it would seem, if the stench rolling from their filthy bodies said anything. 

“Boss, are you really sure we should keep attacking?” one of the bandits in the main group looked at the axeman. “The brats have a small army of mercenaries to protect them, and there’s a bunch more people like this guy blocking the gates!” 

Several of the other bandits were faltering as well, looking nervously between their boss and the mercenaries or fixating on the bodies heaped upon the earth around them. 

The axeman scoffed, jerking his weapon at Byleth. “They’re wearing bronze. _Bronze_. D’you really think a bunch of cut-rate mercenaries with shite equipment are going to stop us?” 

“Uh, boss, that cut-rate merc just took out a dozen or so of our boys!” another bandit argued. “And the knights have got to be on our trail! We need to get out of here before we’re surrounded!” 

A smart bandit: they weren’t too common to come across, but Byleth had crossed blades with a few of them in the past. Would fear of their boss overrule their desire to flee? 

“Anyone runs, and I’ll personally tie your arse to a boulder and roll you down the nearest hill!” the axeman spat. “That is, if I don’t gut you first! This guy is probably the best they have, which is why he’s out here and they’re hiding back there. We kill him, and the others will probably throw those brats right into our hands to get us out of here.” 

More rustling, this time from the right, announced the arrival of more bandits, and Byleth kept his head on a swivel as he took in the formation nearly encircling him. He might have to use his kopis for this. 

“Kill. Him. Now!” the axeman roared, and the group on the left charged. 

Byleth stomped towards them, their weapons screeching against his shield as metal again met the soft yet firm flesh and leather bodies of his assailants. One man tried to dart around the circular bronze wall only to have Byleth’s spear pierce his gut. 

Byleth spun, slamming the edge of his shield into another bandit’s chest while smacking a second one with the haft of his spear. Both men tumbled, but the fourth and final one’s desperate lunge with his sword pushed Byleth back onto the defensive. 

Pain flared as iron opened up part of his unprotected right bicep, but Byleth pushed through the dull ache and swung his spear in a wide arc to create space in front of him. The bandits scrambled out of reach, almost falling over themselves and the bodies on the ground in their haste to escape. 

He kicked aside a corpse to clear the ground and widen the space available to him, mentally keeping track of the bodies to ensure he didn’t trip over one. One misstep could spell his doom if a lucky strike didn’t slip past his armor first. 

“See? He ain’t so tough once we actually fight smart,” the axeman sneered, ignoring the groaning of two of the bandits as they clutched at their wounded abdomens. 

Hot blood trickled down Byleth’s wounded arm, but he paid it no extra attention as he slowly tested the injury. It was shallow, likely superficial, and wouldn’t hinder his movements. Good. No need to heal it yet, not while his hands were preoccupied with the shield and spear. 

The group of three on the right moved forward cautiously, trying to encircle Byleth and get into his blind spots. He lunged, jamming his spear home into one’s chest before they could react. 

“Hey!” a shout from behind, one of the mercenaries, was followed by two pairs of rushing footsteps. “Get back here, you morons!” 

“She stole my axe!” another voice complained. 

She? The girl in red? 

“Ha!” a blue and blonde blur shot past Byleth, ramming a likely stolen- or borrowed, depending on how you look at it- lance into a startled brigand. 

White and red flared from the left: the girl had indeed taken an axe and was swinging it with one gloved hand, clutching the weapon close to the head to allow for faster strikes. She opened up one of the two wounded bandits before cutting down the second and jumping back to rejoin Byleth, her violet eyes gleaming. 

“So nice of you to come to us!” the axeman chortled, hefting his heavy weapon into both hands. “Kill ’em!” 

The blonde boy took up position on Byleth’s right, both flanks now being covered by apparently capable help even if one was holding his lance strangely. If it worked, it worked, Byleth supposed. 

“You weren’t supposed to help me,” he informed them, angling his shield so he could move to cover either noble should they become targets. 

“I believe you’ve already proven your capabilities,” the girl said, a simple but well-crafted dagger with an azure hilt dangling from her waist. “And even the strongest soldier can be overwhelmed by numbers.” 

“I am not going to stand idly by while a stranger risks his life for me,” the blonde boy grunted. “It would be an honor to fight beside you.” 

A pragmatist and a man who believes in honor, is it? Byleth noted that the third noble hadn’t moved to join them. Good, he didn’t need to try to shield all three of them at once. 

One bandit lunged at the blue noble, feinting with his sword in an attempt to open up the boy’s guard. The noble smashed the weapon aside with ease, then buried the head of his lance into the bandit’s throat. 

“They’re just kids! Kill ‘em!” the axeman lunged at the girl while three of his cronies made a beeline for the same target, two others swinging out wide to flank the defending trio. 

The girl ducked beneath a blade, her axe swiping out and gouging into her attacker’s arm. The bandit screamed and staggered back, clutching at the wound while blood poured from between his fingers. 

Byleth impaled another man, yanked the spear free, then slammed shield-first into two others. The impact was barely noticeable, but the way their bodies gave in to hardened bronze and steel was not. 

“Ha!” the head bandit was bearing down on the girl, forcing her to dance back and forth to avoid his brutal, murderous swings as his own axe whipped through the air. “It’s a shame I have to kill you: you’re quite good looking!” 

“Ugh, as if I would ever give myself to scum like you,” the girl scoffed, her eyes hard with disgust. 

“Who said I’d ask you to do that?” the bandit sneered. 

Filth, but the girl was holding her own quite well. It was a relief to have nobles who could actually fight, if Byleth was being honest. 

“Agh!” the cry of the other noble made him turn to see him desperately fending off three bandits at once, including one of the men who’d gone around. 

Byleth reared back and hurled his spear at the man about to stab the boy in the back, reaching to draw his sword when the second flanker tried to slip his sword around Byleth’s hoplon. The blade scraped against his bronze cuirass, and he brought his empty-handed right arm down to catch the weapon in between his arm and torso. 

“H-hey!” the bandit spluttered and tried to free his weapon, only for the gleaming shield to slam into his body and make him tumble onto his back. 

Byleth grabbed the sword’s hilt, pulled it out and then threw it at the surviving two bandits trying to kill the blue nobleman. The sword spun end over end from the throw, its hilt cracking against the head of his target and making the bandit stumble. 

“Thanks!” the noble finished off both men with a sweep of his lance, then looked behind Byleth as his eyes widened. “Edelgard!” 

Ah, the girl? 

Byleth turned, frowning as he saw the girl running towards him with three other bandits along with their leader on her tail. Where were these people coming from? 

He took a moment to slam the rim of his shield down on his disarmed and groaning fallen bandit’s throat, the soft cartilage and bone audibly cracking as the man gurgled in agony before falling silent. 

“Kind of you to notice!” the girl snapped as she skidded to a halt at Byleth’s side, spinning to face her pursuers and taking her axe into both hands. 

“Over here! There’s more!” the blue noble shouted, Byleth glancing back to him to see six more bandits emerging from the forest. 

“How many of these dastards are there?” the girl growled. 

“Enough to slaughter all of you!” the bandit leader crowed as his party slowly began to creep forward. “We’re getting paid a pretty penny to kill the three of you and everyone who tries to help you!” 

A brute paid to kill children yet unable to do so. Pitiful. 

“Stay close to me,” Byleth ordered, finally freeing his kopis’s heavy curved blade from its scabbard. 

The weapon was heavy and razor sharp, its curved hilt snug in Byleth’s palm as rough leather rubbed against his callused flesh. This was a blade designed to be swung wide and to crush whatever it hit aside from cutting, almost like an axe on a sword’s grip. It was a brutal and unforgiving weapon, to be certain, and was a favorite among Spartans aside from a shortened xiphos. 

“Uh, boss?!” the smart bandit hadn’t attacked, it would seem, his finger pointing back towards the village. “Isn’t that Jeralt, the Blade Breaker?!” 

“What?” the lead bandit followed the extended finger, Byleth doing the same to see his father on his horse back in the village, rising over the rest of the company. “What is a renowned mercenary like him doing here?!” 

“Wait, if Jeralt’s here, then doesn’t that mean that this is the Blade Breaker Company?” one of the other bandits’s eyes had widened into sheer horror as he looked at Byleth, his body visibly trembling. “T-then.... that means you’re...” 

“The Bronze Demon!” another bandit yelped, actually taking a step back as he lifted his arms as if they would protect him. “That’s the Bronze Demon!” 

The Bronze Demon... the name that some of the Spartans had given Byleth years ago, as a joke. The title had spread and, unfortunately, stuck, so Byleth had gotten used to being called that even by people he’d never met who’d heard stories of his battlefield prowess. 

“Bronze Demon?” the two nobles were looking at him with wide eyes, and Byleth caught the glint in the head bandit’s eyes just as he lunged at the girl. 

“Eyes forward!” Byleth tried to intercept him, but two other bandits who’d evidently not been cowed by the revelation of who they were facing chose that moment to dive on him. 

The girl snapped her attention back to the danger at hand and lifted her axe to take the oncoming blow, wood cracking and snapping as the bandit leader’s own axe sheared through the haft of her weapon. 

“My axe!” a voice cried from the village. “My ma made that for me, damn it!” 

Byleth shoved one bandit off and buried his kopis into the other’s gut, cursing as the blade lodged into its victim’s bones as the man screamed in agony. The survivor’s wild swing bounced off Byleth’s helmet, metal skittering and ringing through his ears from the impact. He backhanded the assailant with his vambrace, sending him careening to the ground with a shattered jaw before Byleth sprinted towards the girl and the bandit leader. 

She’d drawn that small dagger, her only weapon left as the bandit bore down on her and raised his axe for the killing stroke. Byleth poured on all the speed he could muster, hurling himself in between the girl and the bandit and lifting his shield as the axe fell. 

He’d been too slow: the razor-sharp, blood crusted head was going to go right over the shield and into Byleth’s skull, causing major damage or even death despite the helmet due to the sheer weight and strength of the axe. 

The world turned black, swirling into a vortex of dark blue and purple light until Byleth found himself standing back in that dream palace, arm still lifted to take a blow that wasn’t coming. 

“Honestly! What were you accomplishing with that little stunt?!” the girl on the throne snapped, her face irate as she glared at him. “It’s like you’re trying to get me killed, you fool!” 

Then she sighed, leaning against her hand yet again. “I guess it’s fine. After all, if you don’t know the value of your own life, you’re not going to protect it very well, are you? Course not.” 

She jumped up to her feet, giving him a bright smile as she clapped her hands together. “Well, then. I guess it’s up to me to guide you from now on, right? You can call me Sothis, but I am also known as The Beginning.” 

Well, at least now he had a name for her. But what was this? Was he dead? 

“Hmm,” Sothis straightened her spine, holding her chin thoughtfully. “Sothis... yes, that is it. My name is Sothis. And I am also called The Beginning. But who once called me that?” 

“What are you talking about?” Byleth lowered his arm, frowning at the lack of a shield. 

“I was not able to recall my name until now. And just like that, it came to me...how odd,” the girl named Sothis mused, an irate look crossing her face. “That look upon your face... did you think me a child? A mere child who forgot her own name?! Phooey! That ‘child’ just saved your life! What does that make you?!” 

“Less than a child?” Byleth guessed, at which Sothis the not-child beamed and nodded. 

“Correct! You understand,” she laughed, then scowled and folded her arms before her chest and the strange amulet hanging from her neck. “You threw yourself before an axe to save just one young girl. Yet all is well, as I have stalled the flow of time for now. You would have died had I not intervened.” 

“I see... thank you,” Byleth bowed to her, not really understanding how this not-child could halt Time itself, but he was grateful for her intervention. 

She smiled again. “There now, is gratitude so much to ask? I did deem you worth saving, after all. Though it is only temporary, time has stopped. However did I manage that...” 

“What now?” Byleth frowned, not liking where this was going. 

“When time begins again, that axe will tear into your flesh and you will surely meet your end,” Sothis sighed, fear flickering in her eyes. “How rude of you to drag me into this! Now what to do...” 

An idea clicked in Byleth’s mind. “Turn back the hands of time.” 

“Of course!” Sothis brightened instantly. “I must turn back the hands of time!” 

A golden arcane circle flared to life in front of her, script Byleth couldn’t read rotating among the sigils as an unusual yet somehow familiar symbol hovered at its very center. 

“Yes, I do believe it can be done. You really are quite troublesome,” Sothis declared as she studied the magic before her. “I cannot wind back time too far, but all is well. You are aware of what is coming, which means you can use that shield of yours properly to protect yourself this time. Now, go... Yes, you who bears the flames within. Drift through the flow of time to find the answers that you seek.” 

The vortex of blue and purple darkness overwhelmed him yet again, the image of what had just happened playing in reverse until Byleth was back where he started, with the bandit leader about to bring his axe down on the dagger-wielding girl. 

Byleth sprinted forward, lifting his shield higher in preparation of what was to come as an idea came to mind. He sprinted somewhat behind the noble girl, reaching out and wrapping his right arm around her waist and pulling her against him while turning his shield-bearing side towards the oncoming axe. 

“What are you-” the girl’s startled exclamation halted as metal screeched against metal, Byleth grunting as his hoplon took the full brunt of the brigand’s axe and the force sent tremors up his arm. 

“Eh? How did you-” the bandit’s surprised yelp was cut off as Byleth swung out with the hoplon, striking the axe and sending it spinning into the woods. 

Byleth let go of the girl and stepped forward, lifting his right leg and slamming his foot into the bandit’s chest. The brigand was thrown to the ground, rolling from the force of the blow before he stopped. 

He groaned and lifted his head to look up at Byleth, his eyes wide with fear as the realization of just how outmatched he was finally set in. 

“Boss, the knights are here! We need to run!” two of the surviving bandits, including the smart one, hauled the man to his feet, pointing back at where white-armored forms were emerging from the forest. 

“The Knights of Seiros are here!” the man at the head of the knights hollered, brandishing an elaborate axe. “We’ll cut you down for terrorizing our students!” 

“Reinforcements,” Byleth nodded, watching as the brigands scattered into the forest, vanishing into the lightening darkness. 

“Hey, the bandits are running away! After them!” several of the white knights broke away to give chase. 

Byleth turned back to the two nobles, noting immediately how both of them were staring at him. “What?” 

“That was beyond impressive, sir,” the blue boy commented. “I’ve never seen anyone do something like that before.” 

“You saved my life. Thank you,” the girl bowed to him, a faint smile on her lips as she sheathed her dagger. 

There was embarrassment in her voice, fear in her eyes as she tried to wrap her mind around nearly being killed. Byleth knew the process well, hoped that she would be alright. 

“Hey, did you just...” Jeralt rode over, his horse’s hooves clopping against the earth. “Never mind. Are you alright?” 

Byleth nodded, the blue boy giving his assent while the girl merely mirrored Byleth’s nod. 

“You’re bleeding,” the girl noted, her fingers tugging his arm out to expose the shallow cut still weeping blood. 

“It’s only a little scrape, nothing serious,” Byleth assured her, looking back at the village as the mercenaries filed out to join them. 

“I’ll be! Captain Jeralt! Is that you?!” the leader of the white knights, wearing plate armor with three large golden spikes on one shoulder and an equally pale cape strode up to them, his mouth split into a joyful grin. “It is you! Goodness, it’s been ages! Don’t you recognize me? It’s Alois: your old right-hand man!” 

Jeralt raised an eyebrow at that, leather rustling as he swung down from the saddle. 

Alois blanched a bit, rubbing his head sheepishly. “Well, that’s how I always thought of myself, anyway. It must have been twenty years ago that you went missing without a trace! I always knew you were still alive!” 

He seemed to be perpetually shouting, his voice echoing through the forest. No wonder the bandits had little difficulty in staying ahead of them. 

“You haven’t changed a bit, Alois. Just as loud as ever,” Jeralt sighed, the discomfort in his voice palpable. “And drop that ‘captain’ nonsense: I’m not your captain anymore. These days, I’m just a wandering mercenary, one who has a contract I need to fulfil. Good-bye, old friend.” 

“Right. Good-bye, Captain,” Alois nodded, then balked. “Wait! That isn’t how this ends! I insist you return to the monastery with me!” 

The other knights were returning, annoyance on the faces not covered by white metal visors. Behind Byleth, he could hear the noble girl talking to the mercenary whose axe she’d borrowed and broken, promising to pay for the repairs. 

“It was made by my ma, damn it!” 

“The head isn’t damaged, just the haft. It can be salvaged, sir.” 

“Garreg Mach Monastery... I suppose this was inevitable,” Jeralt muttered, slumping in defeat. 

Why not refuse? It wasn’t like this Garreg Mach place had that much authority, right? It was just a monastery for monks and the like. 

“And how about you, sir?” Alois turned his gaze to Byleth. “Who are you, anyway?” 

“I’m Byleth Eisner,” he answered. 

“Eisner? The captain’s your father?” Alois’s eyes widened, but he nodded slowly. “Well, physical differences aside, you do have mannerisms and an air about you that resembles the captain. I’d love for you to see the monastery too! You will join me, won’t you?” 

“If my father’s going, then I am as well,” Byleth nodded, not missing how Jeralt clenched his fists as the face of a man fighting unpleasant memories was etched across his weathered features. 

He knew something about this Garreg Mach place, apparently had served there once before, but said nothing about it. 

“What’s troubling you, Captain?” Alois asked, his voice still too loud for comfort. “You aren’t about to run off again, are you?” 

Jeralt looked up, his gaze hard as he shook his head. “Even I wouldn’t dare run from the Knights of Seiros.” 

“The Knights of Seiros... they do seem rather skilled” the voice of Sothis filled Byleth’s mind, making his instincts flare into battle mode again as he looked around for her. “Ah, it seems your presence is required. Get going!” 

What in Hades? 

Byleth shook his head and followed to the men as they strode back towards the other Knights of Seiros, some strange circular emblem emblazoned on Alois’s cape and the white breastplates of the other knights. 

“Byleth!” two mercenaries halted him, holding out his spear and sword. “Don’t forget these.” 

“Thank you,” Byleth hurriedly slipped the blade into its scabbard and took hold of the spear, making a mental note to thoroughly clean and polish them later. 

His shield would need to be tended to later as well, especially after the hits it had taken. Was Sothis going to talk again? 

“Ah, there you are!” the three nobles cornered him, the two who’d fought at his side grinning as they did so. 

“I appreciate your help back there. Your skill is beyond question,” the girl said, studying him intently. “And I owe you my life in addition to that. Your father is Jeralt the Blade Breaker, then? The former captain of the Knights of Seiros and oft praised as the strongest knight to ever live. Have I missed anything?” 

Byleth shrugged. “I didn’t know he was a captain.” 

The girl looked at him in surprise. “How curious. I imagine the explanation for that is fascinating indeed.” 

“Hey, you’re coming with us to the monastery, right?” the golden noble who’d hung back spoke up next. “Of course you are. I’d love to bend your ear as we travel. Oh, and I guess I should mention that the three of us are students of the Officers Academy at Garreg Mach Monastery. We were doing some training exercises when those bandits attacked. I definitely got the worst of it.” 

They were students? That explained their youth and the uniforms they wore. Then again, hadn’t Alois said something about them being students when he’d first arrived? 

The girl scowled at him. “That would be because you ran off.” 

The boy nodded. “Too true! I was the first to make a strategic retreat! Everything would have worked out if these two hadn’t followed me and ruined everything. Because of them, every single one of those bandits chased after us. Absolutely ridiculous.” 

“Oh, so that’s what you were thinking, Claude. And here I thought you were acting as a decoy for the sake of us all,” the blue noble growled, scowling. 

Byleth listened patiently as the trio continued bickering back and forth, slinging accusations every which way until he made to leave. The golden boy’s name was Claude, apparently, but what was the name that the blue noble had said earlier? Edelgard or something? Was that the girl’s name? 

“Ah, forgive our digression!” said blue noble spluttered upon realizing that Byleth was trying to walk around them. “I must speak with you, if you have a moment.” 

Claude and Edelgard stopped bickering and turned their gazes upon him, all eyes now locked on Byleth. 

“The way you held your ground against the bandits and their leader was captivating! You never lost control of the situation and it showed me just how much I have to learn,” the blue noble said, opening his mouth to speak more. 

“Your skill is precisely why I must ask you to consider lending your services to the Empire,” Edelgard butted in, earning an irate glare from the boy she’d interrupted. “I might as well tell you now: I am no mere student, but I am also the Adrestian Empire’s-” 

“Halt, Edelgard,” the blue noble interrupted, his voice low with annoyance. “Allow me to finish my own proposition. The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus is in dire need of exceptional individuals like yourself. Please, do consider returning to the Kingdom with me.” 

So, the girl’s name was actually Edelgard, and she was someone of great importance. Maybe all three of them were? 

“Whoa, there! You two are hasty, trying to recruit someone you just met. Tactless, really,” Claude chided, although Byleth had a feeling he was going to try the exact same thing. “I was personally planning to develop a deep and lasting friendship on our journey back to the monastery before begging for favors. But it seems there’s no time for niceties in this world. So, capable stranger, let’s get right to it: where do your loyalties lie?” 

All three were now staring intently at him, waiting for his answer and silently willing him to choose them. 

Byleth sighed and shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint, but I lack the authority required to accept individual contracts. If you want to hire me, you’ll have to hire the company as a whole, in which case you’d have to speak to my father about it.” 

All three of them deflated at once. 

“All right, that’s enough with the small talk!” Alois approached them, grinning brightly. “It’s time to head back to the monastery!” 

Claude shrugged, giving an easygoing grin of his own. “Looks like we’ll have to pick this up another time.” 

As the three students walked away, Sothis’s voice again filled Byleth’s mind. 

“My, my. They are in such a hurry! You know... each of the three is most unique,” she pondered. 

Right. The tall blue boy whose name Byleth had yet to hear was sincere and valued honor, but there was something in him that... unnerved Byleth. A darkness lingering just beneath. Edelgard was a refined young woman, but he couldn’t shake the feeling she was constantly evaluating him, judging his worth and his potential as an ally or threat. As for Claude, his easy smile was striking, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was something more about him, about all three of them, but Byleth doubted much would come from wondering. 

He was a soldier: he would fight whoever or whatever needed to be fought. No matter what the people at this Garreg Mach place wanted, he doubted they would just let the company walk away, not when they owed Byleth and the others so much. 

And there was the case of his father’s past, which Byleth knew nothing about. It was never important, not when the life he could remember had been spent training and fighting with the Spartans. Come to think of it, he couldn’t even remember a time when he’d spent a significant amount of time with his father: Timotheos and Podiarches and the others had taken it upon themselves to raise the boy he’d been. 

They were more a father, or fathers, than Byleth remembered Jeralt being aside from the few times Jeralt had tried to bond with Byleth or fretted over his wounds. And speaking of wounds... Byleth set his shield down and placed his now-freed fingers on the shallow cut he’d received during the fight, chanting the words Argo had taught him as his fingers tingled with warmth. Pale light shone from the contact, gentle magic knitting his flesh together. 

“Using that white magic again?” Podiarches strode over to him, a couple other Spartans at his side. 

Byleth nodded. “I know you don’t approve of magic, Podiarches, but if it helps keep us alive...” 

“It’s fine, Byleth,” Podiarches shrugged, his own spear and shield gleaming in the growing light. “I just didn’t realize you’d been injured.” 

“Just a small cut from one of the bandits. He barely slipped past my shield,” Byleth explained. 

“That was incredible, you know,” one of the other soldiers spoke up, grinning shamelessly beneath his bronze helmet. “That move with the girl and the bandit leader was one hell of a show!” 

“The bandits were poorly armed and poorly trained, and their leader underestimated my equipment simply because it was made of bronze,” Byleth nodded. “I am glad that none of the students were seriously injured.” 

“Indeed, but on to more important things!” Podiarches thrust his arm out and slapped his hand against Byleth’s shoulder. “Congratulations, Byleth! With this show of strength and ability, you have at long last proven yourself to be a proper Spartan soldier!” 

Byleth straightened his back and slammed the sarouter into the ground, lifting his chin as he did so. “Thank you, Podiarches. I will do my utmost to bring honor to Sparta and my brothers in arms.” 

“And I have little doubt that you will,” Podiarches nodded this time, a mischievous grin curving his lips. “When we get to a town, we celebrate!” 

Byleth shook his head slowly as other Spartans drifted over, cheering at the prospect of drinks and celebrations. 

“Hey, we’re leaving!” one of the Knights of Seiros barked. “Get up here now!” 

“Can I kill him?” a Spartan muttered. “These knights are far too full of themselves. Reminds me of an Athenian.” 

“No,” Byleth grunted. 

The man snorted. “Bah, fine.” 

“Thank you,” Byleth glanced up at the sound of approaching footsteps to see Edelgard walking up to him, her face grim yet somewhat softer than it had been before. 

“Your name is Byleth, yes?” she asked, ignoring the wary glares being sent her way by the aging Spartan warriors. 

“It is,” he nodded. 

She bowed. “Thank you again for saving my life from that bandit. Will you walk with me back to the monastery? I’d like to learn more about how you learned to fight like that.” 

“These men here are responsible for training me in the art of fighting like a hoplite,” Byleth gestured with his spear at the Spartans, who grunted or nodded as well. 

“Hoplite?” Edelgard frowned thoughtfully. “I’ve never heard that term before.” 

She gestured towards the receding backs of their allies. “Perhaps you could explain more while we walk?” 

Well, she likely wasn’t going to leave him alone unless he agreed. 

“I would be glad to.” 

____________________ 

On the far eastern shore of the Adrestian Empire, away from any prying eyes and nosy villagers, the skies were ripped by grey clouds that crackled with bright veins of lightning. 

“Why. Won’t. You. WORK?!” each rage-filled word was punctuated by an unusual boom and a flash of an orb of light streaking into the sky, each shot prompting a lance of lightning to streak through the darkness. 

“It has been almost fourteen years, Mordon,” Solon, future savior of the Agarthan race, intoned as he leaned on his cane, watching the sorcerer before him continue firing from that strange apparatus he’d built over a decade ago. “You keep coming back and you keep finding nothing. Why not give up?” 

Lightning crackled overhead, making the air tingle with electricity. 

The dark mage he was speaking to stopped firing and looked back at him, pale flesh peeking out from behind his beaked mask. “Master Solon. You know this summoning apparatus worked a decade ago: the skies split apart with a pillar of light over the ocean amidst this storm. I have been testing it ever since, trying to replicate that phenomenon! If we can summon powerful entities to help us, we can bring the Fell Star’s faithful to heel even more quickly!” 

“So you keep saying,” Solon shook his head, feeling the prominent veins on his face pulse as dark power rippled through them. “Yet we haven’t found whoever it was that you summoned back then, and that thing in your hand hasn’t produced any further results for over a decade.” 

“It is a mere replica of a legendary summoning weapon described in the ancient texts, yes, but our technology will surely allow us to replicate it! I made it work once, I just need to recreate those conditions and figure out just what it is that allows this relic to summon properly!” Mordon turned back to the stormy, raging skies and fired another orb-like shot into the clouds, resulting in naught but another crack of lightning. 

“I would recommend stopping for now,” Solon advised the young Agarthan. “This cape has been nicknamed ‘Anvil of Thunder’ by nearby towns and merchants because of your constant experiments, and I do not want undesired attention to be drawn to us.” 

Another crack, another shot, another whip of lightning. 

“Damn it all!” Mordon snarled, his thin patience finally snapping as he threw the small apparatus onto the ground with all his strength. “This stupid thing refuses to-” 

The relic went off the moment it hit the ground, an orb-like projectile being blasted into Mordon. Lightning lanced down from the skies, Solon averting his gaze as the screams of the younger Agarthan were accompanied by the horrific stench of burning flesh and cloth. 

Then it was over, Mordon’s smoking and charred corpse crumpling into the glassy sands as the storm overhead rumbled yet again. 

“Well, I suppose it is too late to say ‘I told you so,’ isn’t it?” Solon sighed, stooping to pick up the smoking relic that the mage had been desperately trying to use. 

It looked like a small hand-held crossbow: a short barrel extended from a stocky frame housing a trigger and grip, with an elaborate guard extending around the grip. It certainly resembled the ancient relic in the texts, save for the difference in color given the materials used, but clearly this thing wasn’t working the way it was intended to. 

“Well, I suppose there is no harm in trying to tweak this thing,” Solon mused, thinking to his disguise and the knowledge available to him at the monastery. “Perhaps Tomas could have some better luck, hmm?” 

He tucked the faulty relic into his robes and walked away from the smoldering corpse of his subordinate, his mind already going forward to new ideas and possibilities. 

If he could make this device work... then he would be the savior of his people after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't name Dimitri because, when I went back through this encounter in-game, his name wasn't mentioned at all throughout the fighting and cutscenes, unlike Claude and Edelgard. And this Byleth will have a more professional, stern soldier type of personality due to his being raised by Spartans who value seasoned warriors more than anything else.  
> Notes: Doru (I think I spelled that right) is the Spartan spear, Hoplon is their large disk-shaped shield, and the kopis and xiphos are their swords. All information regarding the Spartan equipment was grabbed either online or from AC: Odyssey, so I am by no means claiming to be an expert on Spartan equipment, names, or traditions.


	3. Garreg Mach Monastery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The center of faith is found, and Byleth discovers the first of many ways of making Seteth's life a walking nightmare. A soldier becoming a teacher... this can only end well, yes?

The forest was filled with birdsong and the rattle of armor, beams of sunlight flickering through the canopy and bouncing off of iron, steel, and bronze. Jeralt was walking at the head of the group, chattering with Alois and the other Knights of Seiros as Byleth and the Spartans hung back with the three students. 

“This will be your first time at the monastery, right? I’d be happy to show you around,” the blue noble broke the silence between them. 

“Garreg Mach really is Fodlan in a nutshell,” Claude chuckled, but there was a slight catch in his voice. “The good and the bad.” 

“Like it or not, we’ll be there soon,” Edelgard said from Byleth’s side, right as the forest opened up to reveal the towering structures built into the Oghma Mountains. 

Two levels of massive stone walls encircled the basin of sorts that the monastery was built into, although there were equally massive gaps in the fortifications meant to allow traffic through, and Byleth saw no means of closing said gaps should the monastery and the town he could see situated beneath it be invaded. 

The second level of walls were encasing the large collection of stone buildings with blue-tiled roofs while a plethora of steeples pierced the sky, and Byleth could see the arches of an aqueduct feeding clean water to the monastery from the mountains. 

“It looks well-fortified, but I doubt it would last long in a siege, what with those massive entrances,” another Spartan was apparently making the same observations as Byleth, bronze helmets nodding all around. 

“They’re relying too much on faith and their status as a symbol to dissuade invasion,” Byleth guessed. 

“Their knights are the elite of the elite, too,” the blue noble whose name Byleth still didn’t know spoke up. “Although the Knights of Seiros are small in number, they’re unmatched in battle.” 

“So, they’re the Spartans of Fodlan, eh?” Podiarches mused. 

“Uh, aren’t we the Spartans of Fodlan?” one of their number asked in confusion. 

“We’re an elite but small group of unsurpassed warriors,” Byleth explained. “Podiarches was comparing the Knights of Seiros to us by stating that they were like us.” 

“Oh,” the Spartan muttered, not seeming convinced by the logic. 

“It was a comparison by name only, sir,” Edelgard commented, earning a grunt from the soldier. 

“Personally, I’d like to see who would come out on top in a match between a Spartan and one of the more skilled Knights of Seiros,” Claude mused, and Byleth could almost feel the battle fervor charging to life among the old warriors around him. 

“You shouldn’t have said that,” he told the young man. 

“My bad!” little shit didn’t seem ashamed in the slightest. 

The group moved in silence through the bustling town, merchants hawking their wares with killing intent as scores of people halted in what they were doing to stare at the Spartans. 

“Who are those men?” the whispers began almost immediately, the Spartans tightening formation. 

“What kind of armor is that?” 

“I’ve never seen bucklers that large!” 

“Are they wearing tunics?” 

“Look at their muscles!” 

Jeralt hung back with the Spartans as the group made their way through town, approaching the towering walls of Garreg Mach Monastery. “They’re going to take you and I to see Lady Rhea, given that you single-handedly protected the heads of the classes.” 

“Are we to be disarmed?” Byleth wondered as the stone walls closed around them, leading to a massive portcullis. 

“Most likely,” Jeralt muttered as chains rattled and metal groaned, voices shouting while the portcullis was lifted into its channel to open the way. 

A score of white-armored knights were waiting in the small market space before them, a large stone stairway rising to a massive building. 

“Hand over your weapons before we let you go in any further!” one knight shouted. “Sir Jeralt and Sir Byleth, with me!” 

Alois hurried the students forward into what Byleth presumed to be the entrance hall, that large building on the other side of this courtyard, leaving the other Knights of Seiros to face the daunting task of convincing nine Spartans to yield their weapons. 

“You with the weird bronze armor: hand over your spears and swords!” several knights had already begun disarming the other mercenaries, with Jeralt handing over his own lance. 

The Spartans tensed, clustering together tightly and readying themselves to resist should the warily approaching knights try to fight. 

“Your equipment will be returned to you when the time is right,” another knight assured them. “They will be properly cared for, you have my word.” 

The Spartans shared conspiratorial glances but handed over their swords and spears, after which the knights visibly relaxed. The fools didn’t think the shields were dangerous enough to justify taking them away. 

“Stay by the gates in case we need a quick exit,” Byleth heard Podiarches mutter to their comrades. “I don’t trust these people.” 

“Sir Jeralt! Sir Byleth!” the knight insisting on being their guide called for them again after Byleth relinquished his own spear and sword. 

“Just stay close,” Jeralt murmured, Byleth squeezing the grip of his shield and following as his father led him into the entrance hall. 

Columns and high vaulted ceilings awaited, water bubbling happily as it cascaded down two artificial waterfalls on either side of a staircase. Byleth’s studded sandals traversed the plush rug with ease as he examined every inch of their surroundings as they left the building. His father paused in the courtyard, his gaze going skyward. 

“Rhea’s here,” he murmured, Byleth mirroring his father to see a woman standing on a balcony far above them, wearing some sort of elaborate headdress. 

She turned away and the two mercenaries entered the building, striding through a massive hall filled with long square tables and young students in black and gold uniforms. 

“Oh, is that him?” 

“The mercenary who saved Princess Edelgard?” 

“Isn’t that man Jeralt? The old captain?” 

“The Blade Breaker! No way!” 

They were led to a side hall and up a tight set of stairs to the upper level of this building, immediately finding themselves in a small waiting room before a pair of grand doors. Byleth had to twist his body in order to make his shield fit, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to lose it. 

It had been a bad idea on the knights’ part to let the Spartans keep their shields: they were trained to use everything at their disposal as a weapon, and their hoplons were deadly in the right hands. 

“Behave yourself around the Archbishop, mercenaries,” the two knights flanking the doors warned, hands gripping the hilts of finely crafted silver swords. 

The doors were pushed open, the apprehension radiating from Jeralt making Byleth’s battle-hardened nerves rage for action and combat. It took all of his self-control to keep himself from slamming his shield’s rim into their vulnerable throats. 

The mercenaries strode into an elaborate audience chamber complete with pillars, glowing chandeliers, and a throne in the back of the room, settled beneath a brightly colored stained-glass window depicting symbols Byleth couldn’t decipher. 

She was standing there, dressed in elaborate robes while bright green eyes and hair of the same luster greeted them, ruby-colored lips curved into a practiced, gentle smile. 

Jeralt bowed his head out of respect while another man strode out to join the archbishop, this one dressed in a blue shirt and pants with elaborate decorations. His dark green hair was neatly trimmed, as was the facial hair lining his stern, disapproving glare. 

“Greetings, I am Seteth, an advisor to Lady Rhea,” the man introduced himself, those strange eyes flitting over to Byleth and narrowing further in displeasure. “Why do you still have your shield? I told the knights to disarm all of you.” 

Jeralt coughed. “I, uh, wouldn’t try to separate a Spartan from their shield, Seteth.” 

“Spartan? Alois did mention something of the sort in his report,” Seteth folded his arms, his eyes steeled and voice thinly veiling his contempt. “And why, pray tell, should we not separate these Spartans from their shields?” 

“Because they will kill everyone who tries,” Jeralt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Trust me: you don’t want to make an enemy of these men.” 

Seteth opened his mouth, his sour expression warning Byleth that he was about to call for the guards outside the door, but Rhea interrupted before his battle instincts could fully kick in. 

“That’s enough, Seteth,” her voice was imperious yet gentle, kind yet commanding, filling the room and capturing the attention of all present. “We brought them here to thank them for protecting our students, not to threaten them.” 

She gave the two mercenaries an apologetic smile, bowing her head before turning her attention to Jeralt. “It has been quite some time, has it not, Jeralt? Perhaps it was the will of the Goddess that we meet again.” 

Jeralt bowed. “Forgive me for my silence all these years, Lady Rhea. Much has happened.” 

The tension was thick, despite the archbishop’s attempts to defuse it, and Byleth kept one eye on Seteth and the other on the exit, his muscles ready to launch his shield into someone’s throat and make a break for it. 

“Is this young man your son?” Rhea tried to peer through the narrow visor of the bronze helmet at the face beneath, but he knew she could see very little of his features. 

“I am, Lady Rhea,” Byleth spoke slowly, examining how his words affected her while mimicking his father’s bowed head. “My name is Byleth Eisner.” 

She smiled warmly, but there was something in her eyes that unnerved him: that almost predatory examination as if she was debating sinking her fangs into his unarmored throat. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Byleth. I’ve heard from Alois that you were the one who single-handedly defended our students, and for that you have my thanks,” there was just... so much wrong coming from her despite her warmth. 

Every instinct he’d honed into a razor’s edge was screaming for him to leave, to get away from there, but all he had was a shield. He couldn’t kill everyone with it, no matter how skilled he was. 

“Two of the students did break ranks to fight beside me, so I didn’t finish it off alone,” credit had to be given where credit was due, especially for that Edelgard girl. 

She’d pressed him for details about the Spartans, his training, and how a hoplite fought almost the entire trip, but somehow it hadn’t been unpleasant talking to her. He’d almost... enjoyed it. 

“I was told they came in only after you’d defeated most of the bandits and even then, you had to rescue them again in the heat of battle,” the archbishop folded her hands before her stomach, that predatory smile never wavering. “You have my sincerest gratitude for defending our students, nonetheless. Now, I would like to bring both of you into Garreg Mach for permanent positions.” 

“You want me to rejoin the Knights,” Jeralt sighed, earning a scowl from Seteth and a nod from Rhea. “Fine, but what about Byleth?” 

Rhea didn’t even hesitate. “I would like you to take a position teaching here at the Officer’s Academy. Alois recommended you, after all, and you certainly built up a quick rapport with the heads of the houses.” 

A teacher? Him? 

Time to say something that Seteth would certainly not like. 

Byleth cleared his throat, that wrong sense still ringing in every nerve ending. “May I speak freely?” 

Seteth’s eyes narrowed, dislike gleaming within those eyes that have clearly seen far more than his appearance suggested. 

“You may,” Rhea’s interest was almost unnerving, as was the way her eyes zeroed in on Byleth. 

“I do not think I would be a good choice for a professor,” Byleth’s left arm was starting to tremble with the strain of holding his shield ready to slam into flesh. 

“You dare doubt the archbishop’s wisdom?” Seteth started to step forward, his fist clenched and outrage blazing in his eyes, but Rhea silenced him with a raised hand and a careful, guarded expression. 

“Please, continue,” she urged, patience radiating from her. 

Byleth relaxed slightly, letting his tightly-wound muscles get some welcome relief. “I am not a scholar or a man of education. I am a soldier, a warrior whose life had been spent training to fight and to kill since I was a child.” 

Both Seteth and Rhea glanced at Jeralt with raised eyebrows, but the mercenary just shrugged. 

“If you truly mean to keep us here, then my abilities would best be put to use either as a soldier or as a combat instructor, if you must place me in a teaching position,” Byleth was watching both faces closely, seeking even the slightest change in their expressions. 

“We already have a combat instructor,” Rhea informed him, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “And having a soldier as a professor would certainly provide a more retrospective view of our subjects, would it not?” 

“If that is your desire, then I will do my utmost to fulfil it,” Byleth nodded, silently accepting his fate. 

If the Church of Seiros was as large as his father made it sound, then there was clearly no way they were going to get out of this, especially if the archbishop, herself, was making these demands of them. 

Rhea gave him an apologetic smile. “I thank you for your patience, Sir Byleth. I understand that this is very sudden and you may feel as if I am forcing this position upon you, but I promise that you and the rest of your company will be well compensated for your services.” 

“I’m a soldier and a mercenary,” Byleth shrugged. “I’m used to this.” 

Seteth folded his arms before his chest. “In that case, we’ll introduce you to the rest of the staff and familiarize you with Garreg Mach. Tomorrow, you’ll meet with the heads of the three Houses and choose which class you’d like to teach.” 

“As you wish,” Byleth inclined his head again, his pulse echoing in the bronze confines of his plumed helmet. 

The two green-haired clergy bowed and then strode past the mercenaries to leave the room, their voices soft as they conferred with one another. 

“Unbelievable,” Jeralt grumbled the moment the mercenaries were alone. “Forced back into the Knights of Seiros.” 

“How do you want to handle this, Father?” Byleth asked, squeezing the handle of his shield out of habit. 

“We’ll do as they ask, for now, not that we have much of a choice,” the grizzled mercenary sighed, again rubbing the bridge of his nose. “But be wary around Lady Rhea. I don’t know what she’s up to by making you a professor, but be on your guard.” 

The doors ground open again behind them, Byleth turning and sinking back into battle mode as he calculated how quickly he could crush the necks of the two approaching strangers with his hoplon’s rim. 

The woman was attractive and she definitely knew it, if that apparel meant to flaunt her curves and chest was any indication along with the makeup tinting her face. Her painted lips curved into a welcoming smile while her eyes scoped the two men out, roaming over their expressions and their bodies. 

The older man next to her had a definite air of a scholar around him, and his grey suit and overcoat were immaculately pressed. A lone monocle covered his right eye, giving him a rather dignified air that complimented his finely trimmed and waxed mustache. 

“So, you must be the new professor!” the woman cooed in a rather musical voice, eyeing Jeralt. “My, how stern and handsome you are!” 

“Er, no. I’m not the one you’re looking for,” Jeralt glanced at Byleth. “You can handle things from here. Good luck.” 

With that, Jeralt turned and walked away, his boots clicking against the stones as he left Byleth alone with these two professors. 

Their eyes honed in on him, curiosity and surprise in both. 

“Oh, it’s you, then?” the woman asked, bending over to peer more intently into the helmet’s visor. “How old are you?” 

The older man huffed. “Competence and age are not necessarily correlated, as you well know. I am Hanneman, a Crest scholar and professor at the Officers Academy.” 

His eyes lingered curiously on Byleth, his hand absently lifting to rub his neat goatee. “I wonder if you bear a Crest of your own. When next you have a moment to spare, I insist that you pay me a visit so we can delve into the subject further.” 

The woman reached up to smooth her short hair, giving Byleth another almost predatory look over. “I’m Manuela. I’m a professor, a physician, a songstress, and available. It’s nice to meet you.” 

“You’re a songstress?” Byleth mused, his question making a faint smile curl on her painted lips. 

That explained her musical voice. 

“Of course. Before I came here, I belonged to a renowned opera company,” she affirmed, a rather proud light gleaming in her brown eyes. “Perhaps you’ve heard of me? The Mittelfrank Opera Company’s beautiful, peerless-” 

“Spare our colleague the needless chatter, Manuela,” Hanneman cut her off, a world-weary look in his equally weary eyes. “Now then, it seems you’ll be taking charge of one of the academy’s three houses. I expect you haven’t yet been briefed on the nature of each, have you?” 

Manuela raised an eyebrow. “Do you really not know? Fine, I’ll do you a favor and explain.” 

She quickly went on to explain that the three houses of students in the academy were based on their country of origin: The Black Eagle House of the Adrestian Empire, the Blue Lion House of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, and the Golden Deer House of the Leicester Alliance. 

At least now Byleth knew the name of that blue-clad noble who’d fought beside him: Prince Dimitri. 

“To think that the next emperor, king, and sovereign duke are all here,” Hanneman mused after the explanation had concluded. “It certainly is a promising year for the academy.” 

“I’ll say. I just hope none of those little treasures cause any trouble,” Manuela nodded, shooting Byleth a wink. 

Treasures? Something told him none of the students would take kindly to being referred as such. 

“Quite. For now, I suggest taking a stroll around the academy to get your bearings. And when you’ve a moment, please stop by my research laboratory,” Hanneman spoke up, at which Byleth nodded. 

These Crest things were a mystery that needed to be solved immediately, especially if he had one, whatever they were. 

“The old man has a point. Oh, and keep in mind I’ll only notify the house leaders that we have a new professor. It’s more fun that way,” Manuela added, which made Byleth raise an eyebrow. 

Just the house leaders? He supposed it made sense, but was she trying to toy with him? 

“I suggest you try spending some time with the students. Some odd ducks in that bunch, but they’re good kids,” she kept talking, oblivious to his thoughts. “I’m sure Lady Rhea will have more information for you tomorrow, but that should get you going. Good luck. You’ll need it.” 

Byleth nodded, then turned away from the two professors to make his way out of the large chamber. He strode out into the entrance hall, his eyes going to the two Knights of Seiros who were standing guard by the door. 

They were watching him intently, not even bothering to pretend they weren’t. Seteth must have told them to closely monitor him. 

He moved down the side stairway that had led him up here, moving as silently as he could with heavy bronze armor weighing him down and a massive shield occasionally scraping against the tight walls. Byleth pushed through the main hall again, listening to the students as they chattered among themselves. 

“How can I make Dimitri be my friend?” 

“Linhardt’s so laid back!” 

“Hey, isn’t that the mercenary who saved the princess?” 

“Oh, the guy wearing that foreign armor?” 

“Goddess, those muscles! Do all of those guys with him have those?” 

“Raphael is way larger in that department, y’know.” 

“I heard those guys were, like, way older than we are.” 

“Really? Even him?” 

Their mutterings faded in the background as he moved in between the two buildings before retracing his steps through the massive entrance hall. Water gurgled and splashed through the waterfall channels, almost lost among the chattering of more white-clad knights or pilgrims clad in everything from noble’s silks to laborer’s rags and breeches. 

They parted before him, studying his armor, his shield, his face, everything, but he ignored their gazes. They weren’t his concern. 

He moved through the large gates, down the stairs to where the Blade Breaker Company had been detained to find a few of the mercenaries milling around the towering building that looked like it could be a barracks. 

“Ah, Byleth! Thank goodness you’re here!” one of the mercs perked up instantly, and Byleth could make out the sounds of fighting coming from inside the barracks. “A bunch of the Church soldiers were spewing off insults at Podiarches and a couple of the other Spartans inside and then they just started swinging.” 

That explained the fight. 

Byleth shook his head, feeling his helmet sway at the motion. “I’ll get in there and make sure they don’t kill anyone.” 

He entered the barracks to find chaos: the entrance spread out into a massive rectangular room with a courtyard in the middle lined by pillars. There were about four stories that Byleth could see, each wall lined with simple wooden doors that led to perhaps rooms for the soldiers boarding here. 

The other nine Spartans were currently beating the living daylights out of a dozen or so soldiers wearing white leather armor with minimal metal plating on their torsos, who were barely able to defend themselves against the much stronger and experienced Spartans. 

“How’s this for a pathetic old man?” Podiarches was holding a Church soldier by his collar, the victim’s face bruised and swollen as blood wept from an obviously broken nose. “Try to pull a knife on me, eh?” 

“Hey, guys!” Byleth strode into the carnage, noting that a neat row of hoplons were lined up against the nearby wall. 

The hopelessly one-sided beatings halted as the eyes of soldiers, mercenaries, and Spartans fell on him, grunts and thuds echoing as many of the veteran warriors released their victims. 

“Want to tell me how all of this happened?” Byleth gestured at the bruised and beaten Church soldiers. 

“Arrogant bastards came swaggering out like they owned the place, tried to throw their so-called weight around because they were older Church soldiers in the service or some nonsense like that,” Timotheos grunted, wiping his hands on his tunic. “When we told ‘em to bugger off, they started insulting us and a couple took swings at Podiarches.” 

“So you beat the Hades out of them?” Byleth looked down at the groaning soldiers, then shrugged. “Nice work.” 

“Hey, what’s going on here?!” two new figures strode into the wreckage, emanating airs only veteran warriors could put on. 

The taller woman on the left was dressed in a white and red apparel that had clearly seen a lot of wear and tear, her ruffled blonde hair a sharp contrast to her brilliant blue eyes. She was clearly accustomed to battle, if her worn gauntlets and armored boots were any indicator. 

The other woman was quiet and stuck close to the shadows, almost vanishing within them as she gazed at the Spartans with a veteran’s calculating glare, which short-cropped purple hair that mirrored her sharp gaze. Her light blue jacket was complemented by boots of the same color, a black shirt and black gloves and dark trousers: apparel worn by one used to sneaking around. 

“Some of your men assaulted mine,” Podiarches let go of his punching bag and rose, brushing off his powerful hands. “We taught them the error of their ways.” 

The blonde woman shot a fierce scowl at the man at the Spartan’s feet. “Drennen, why do we always have this problem whenever we hire someone new? Honestly, I don’t know why we bother keeping you around.” 

“Didn’t seem like you had much of a problem here,” the other woman noted, her gaze merciless as she took in the beaten soldiers. 

“If these small fries were a match for a Spartan, then clearly we’d need to train harder,” Timotheos grunted. 

Something sparked in the blonde woman’s eyes as she lifted her hands and cracked her knuckles, rolling her shoulders in anticipation of a fight. “Well, let’s see how you handle a Knight of Seiros!” 

The onlookers widened their spacing, several grabbing confused mercenaries and pulling them further away from the makeshift arena. They even grabbed the fallen Church soldiers and dragged them out of the line of fire. 

“A Knight of Seiros, eh?” Podiarches chuckled, cracking his own knuckles as a feral grin curved his lips. “I’m all warmed up!” 

“Catherine, we don’t have time to-” the second woman’s words fell on deaf ears as her companion lunged at Podiarches with blinding speed. 

The Spartan lifted his bronze-covered arms up to block the anticipated blow, metal shrieking as a vicious right hook from the woman named Catherine slammed into his vambraces. She swung again and again with blinding speed, Podiarches’s entire body trembling as he barely moved his guard to take the blows. 

“Damn, she’s fast!” a Spartan whistled, impressed. 

“Take ‘im down!” a Church soldier called. 

Catherine swung, rode the momentum when she missed and snapped a leg out at Podiarches, slamming a boot into his chest and sending him stumbling backwards. The Spartan recovered despite the new dent in his breastplate and ducked to avoid another blow, then followed up with two lightning-fast punches to Catherine’s gut. 

“Not bad!” she grinned, not even fazed, then lunged. 

Podiarches tried to swing to counteract her momentum, but Catherine ducked beneath his blow and slammed a fist into his chin, sending him reeling backwards. She was fast and brutal but she left herself open far too often, Byleth noticed, relying on pure power to overwhelm her enemies before they could retaliate. 

The Spartan hit the ground with a grunt, swearing as he tried to get on his feet. Catherine streaked towards him, her body ready to deliver another brutal blow. Byleth moved faster than he thought possible, his shield already held out before him to take the blow threatening his fallen comrade. 

Catherine’s fist slammed full force into the bronze, the crunching of metal and wood along with the power crashing onto Byleth’s arm making him wince. It took every ounce of strength he could muster just to hold his ground despite his sandals skidding back a few inches from the force alone. 

“Well, it looks like I really need to get this shield repaired now,” Byleth muttered, the pins and needles in his arms slowly fading. “We’re trying to not kill each other, are we not?” 

Catherine pulled her fist out and stepped back, a sheepish grin on her lips as she shook her hand. “Sorry about that! You’re pretty quick and strong, aren’t you?” 

Podiarches groaned behind Byleth. “I can keep fighting. Do not.... urk.” 

“You overdid it, again,” the other woman said in a bored voice, fiddling with a strange-looking dagger. “I have to admit I’m impressed that other guy’s still standing, however.” 

“Come on, round two! You and me, new guy!” Catherine bounced back and forth on the balls of her feet, boots clacking against the stone floor as she lifted her fists again. “I haven’t even warmed up yet!” 

What was even the purpose of this? The insult to the Spartans had already been dealt with, but perhaps this would provide Byleth with an opportunity to gauge this woman’s strength for himself in case they ever worked together in the future? 

Podiarches was hauled to his feet by Timotheos and another Spartan, another one wincing as he took in the crater than had been pounded into Byleth’s shield. Byleth handed his hoplon to that man and turned back to Catherine, calling on his brutal training once again. 

His battle-hardened body shifted into stance on its own, muscles tightening in preparation for battle as the pent-up battle energy he’d been trying to douse crackled to life in full force. 

Catherine grinned, chuckled, then lunged. Byleth snapped his arms up to take her vicious right hook, the power again sending waves of agony through his very bones as they took this shattering blow. She was fast, strong, so he would have to make this contest tip in his favor through other means. 

Catherine jumped back to create space, but Byleth closed in to keep her from doing so, his vision tunneled onto her through his narrow visor. He swung once at her face, then quickly jabbed at her gut when she blocked the first blow. His fist sank into her body, meeting stiff leather and metal underneath that cloak she wore. 

Her own blows rained down on his breastplate and rang against his helmet, almost too fast for him to see, but he couldn’t back out now or else she’d pursue him and keep up her relentless assault. 

“Is this really necessary?” Sothis’s voice demanded, almost making him jump and lose his concentration. 

Another blow rang off his helmet, and Byleth lunged at Catherine, callused fingers taking ahold of her shoulders. 

“Eh?” her own hands belatedly whipped down to grab him, to grapple in a test of strength in which one would try to throw the other down, but her momentary surprise tipped the scales in his favor. 

Byleth put his full body weight to the test and heaved against Catherine, while swiping at her legs with a well-aimed kick to unbalance her before she could gather her strength. He barely made it. 

She stumbled from the force of the blow, trying to correct her balance and momentum, and Byleth heaved against her own crushing grip with everything he could muster. 

“Whoa!” Catherine tumbled and was thrown to the ground, grunting as her body slammed into stone. 

She jumped up with blinding speed, already preparing herself to continue fighting when the doors were flung open and a furious Seteth stormed in with a small contingent of Knights at his back. 

“What is the meaning of this?!” he roared, infuriated eyes immediately honing in on the bloodied Church soldiers and the Spartans. “Explain, now!” 

The Knights spread out, aiming spears and swords at everyone in the barracks but they obviously focused on the Spartans, who quickly retrieved their hoplons and clustered together to form a rough shield wall in the corner. 

“Whoa, Seteth!” Catherine strode forward, interposing herself between Byleth and the infuriated aide. “Just a friendly sparring match, that’s all!” 

A vein pulsed on Seteth’s forehead. “A sparring match?! I was told there was a brawl going on in here!” 

“Hey, your people attacked us first,” Timotheos called out from behind the wall of bronze Spartan lambdas. 

“It doesn’t matter who attacked whom first!” Seteth roared. 

Byleth crouched, already calculating how quickly he could disarm one of the Knights and get back to the other Spartans with his stolen weapon when the second woman placed a hand on Seteth’s shoulder, making the man yelp. 

“Drennen and a small group of the hired grunts assaulted our new additions and were promptly beaten into the ground for their troubles,” she said coolly, her tone cutting through the tension filling the room. “Catherine and I came here because we heard the fighting, but it had already been dealt with.” 

“I wanted to test out the new guys’ strength for myself,” Catherine added hurriedly. “I, uh, kinda overdid it, but nobody was seriously hurt!” 

A groan from a bloody and bruised Church soldier said otherwise. 

Catherine coughed awkwardly. “Well, I didn’t seriously hurt anyone, at least.” 

Seteth inhaled slowly and deeply, obviously making a herculean effort to contain his anger and disbelief as he folded his arms before his chest and glared daggers at everyone in the barracks. “You are all in the employ of the Church of Seiros and are, as such, expected to behave in a manner that reflects well on the Church. If I ever hear about another incident like this happening, everyone in here will be suspended without pay and expelled from Garreg Mach, is that clear?” 

“Yes, sir!” came a chorus of voices. 

Byleth and the Spartans said nothing. 

Seteth wheeled on Catherine. “And you, Thunder Catherine, should know better! I do not want to hear about another incident like this again, understand?” 

“Yeah, I hear you,” the woman grunted. 

“As for you!” Seteth turned that fierce gaze onto Byleth. “Professor Eisner, you haven’t even started and you’re already stirring up trouble?! I will overlook this just this once because it is clear that Catherine got involved where she shouldn’t have, and your... Spartans were defending themselves, but you are to provide a stellar example for our students to follow! Do not do this ever again, do I make myself clear?” 

“Understood,” Byleth answered, if only to satiate this annoying man. 

“Wait, hold up! Professor?” Catherine blurted, looking over her shoulder at Byleth. “You’re telling me this guy is our new professor?” 

“Correct,” Byleth nodded, catching a gleam of respect in the woman’s gaze. 

She grinned and turned, thrusting a hand out to him. “Huh, with someone as strong as you teaching those kids, I don’t think they’ll have anything to worry about!” 

Byleth took her crushing grip and met it with one of his own, noting how she nodded with approval at the display of strength. 

“I hope to work together with you in the future!” Catherine said brightly. “Let me know if you ever need anything, alright?” 

“Likewise for you,” Byleth released her and the two warriors backed away. 

“Alright, time to train!” Catherine spun on her heels and marched out of the barracks, much too happily, in Byleth’s opinion. 

“I’ve never seen anyone knock Catherine off-balance like that before, much less throw her onto the ground in a grapple,” the second woman mused from where she was standing, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “You’re pretty good, Professor.” 

“Damn right, he is!” the Spartans had broken formation and were gathering around Byleth. 

“Byleth, here, is the best we’ve got!” 

“Byleth Eisner, huh?” the woman studied him and then nodded. “My name’s Shamir: it’s a pleasure.” 

“Likewise,” Byleth nodded to her. “Is Catherine known to start brawling like that?” 

Shamir sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Sometimes. I try to reign her in, but...” 

“She seems difficult to reign in like that, especially if she’s set on fighting,” Byleth commented. 

“You have no idea,” Shamir muttered, shaking her head. 

Seteth and the other Knights shuffled out of the barracks, the advisor shooting Byleth one final warning glare before he slipped out of sight. 

“He’s always uptight, so don’t worry about this,” Shamir advised with a roll of the eyes. “He’s most likely glad that you Spartans kept the damage minimal and now he knows that the Church just hired a small group of elite, well-trained warriors.” 

“We’re the best soldiers in all of Greece and Fodlan,” one Spartan boasted, to which none of the onlookers commented. 

“Were there always so few of you, however?” Shamir asked, looking over their numbers. 

The Spartans soured immediately: this was still a sensitive topic for them. 

“This is barely half of what we had at first,” Byleth explained. “We were on a contract to put down some rogue mages being led by a powerful Warlock when said Warlock set off a high-level fire spell in our formation. The explosion was devastating.” 

One of the Church soldiers winced at that. “That formation must have been tight if one spell killed so many of you. Do you know which fire spell it was?” 

“I think Argo called it Ragnarok or something like that?” one of the mercenaries spoke up. 

A sharp intake of breath could be heard all around the room, wonder-filled gazes falling on the Spartan survivors. 

“Ragnarok? Damn, you guys must be tough as all hells if so many of you actually managed to survive that spell, especially from a Warlock,” a soldier commented. 

“So many of us?” Podiarches spat. “There were twenty-three of us when we first came here. That spell reduced us to nine.” 

“Aren’t there ten of you here?” one of the Church soldiers was counting, nodding to herself when she’d finished. “Yeah, there’s ten of you.” 

“I only recently became a fully-fledged Spartan,” Byleth explained, gazing at the crater and dents pounded into his shield and trying to see how he could salvage the hoplon. “And I was born here in Fodlan, not Sparta.” 

“That sounds like quite a story,” a soldier commented. “Would you mind telling us one day?” 

“Perhaps one day,” Podiarches grunted, running a callused hand over the new dent in his breastplate. “Damn, that woman got me good. If I wasn’t wearing armor, I’d likely be nursing several broken ribs.” 

“Not to mention that she punched a crater into my shield,” Byleth muttered, staring at the battered hoplon as the man holding it held it back out to him. 

The damage done to its shining surface was going to take forever to repair, if he could even find a way to hammer out that crater, not to mention the splintered wood he could see beneath the crunched bronze and steel. 

Shamir cleared her throat, drawing their eyes to her. “If you’d like, I can get the blacksmiths to repair both of those since the damage was my partner’s fault. Free of charge, of course, and it will likely be done by morning.” 

Byleth and Podiarches shared a glance: a breastplate was easy enough to part with, since it only protected one man, but a shield was vital for the whole formation. Without a shield, one couldn’t rightly protect his comrades. 

“Well, so long as we have ‘em back before our training in the morning, I don’t see why not,” Podiarches decided with a small nod. 

The shield was most important here, but it was beyond Byleth’s ability to repair. No choice, then. 

Podiarches undid the straps on his breastplate, freeing himself from its heavy bronze shell and holding it out to Shamir. She took one look at the dented surface and called over another knight to take it. 

Byleth offered his shield, this one which Shamir surprisingly took herself, grunting at the heavy weight as she braced both hands to carry it. 

“I shouldn’t have offered, but at least the smithy is right outside,” she grumbled, grimacing as she and the knight she’d conscripted to carry Podiarches’s armor hauled the gear outside. 

“How heavy are those damn things?” a Church soldier asked, looking over the assembled Spartans with new respect gleaming in her eyes. 

“Very,” Timotheos grunted, rolling his shoulders as best as he could while still clad in his own breastplate. “The linothraxes some of the others wear are lighter but not quite as strong.” 

“Beats having our shoulders and backs aching all to Hades every day,” one Spartan wearing such a linothrax retorted. “And we still have our shields.” 

“You guys really like your shields, huh,” another soldier mused, studying the massive hoplons. “They certainly look strong.” 

“Anyone know where we’re supposed to stay?” a Spartan interrupted before someone could get into a long-winded explanation and boast of the supremacy of Sparta’s shields. 

“Up here, guys!” a mercenary called from the second story, drawing all eyes upwards. “I found our quarters up here!” 

The ten Spartans and some mercenaries filed up a flight of stone stairs to the second story, where the man who’d called them up was gesturing at a corridor filled with wooden doors. 

“Take your pick,” he waved a hand at the doors. “The rooms are simple but not too bad to stay in.” 

Timotheos grunted. “I will never get used to having to sleep in individual rooms, no matter how many years pass.” 

Byleth nodded: he, too, was accustomed to sleeping in a communal area with the rest of the Spartans, each man wrapped in their cloaks with their shields and spears close by in case the company was attacked. It was strange to have a room of his own, and the emptiness felt too vulnerable. 

Podiarches immediately claimed the first ten rooms on the left for the Spartans, barking orders that each man obeyed without hesitation. 

Byleth moved into the third room, next to Timotheos and another Spartan named Nikolaos, and pushed the heavy oaken door open. The room was a small square with the only source of light being some sort of magicked ball of light hanging from the ceiling. There was an armor rack for his gear against the far wall along with wooden hooks for shields and weapons, with a lone bed on the opposite side. A small table with one equally small chair sat in the middle, with a simple wooden dresser pushed up against the wall beside the door. 

It wasn’t luxurious by any means but Byleth had slept in far worse conditions in the past. He laid his spear against the wall and unhooked his kopis, hanging the belt from one of the wooden hooks. 

“Any words of wisdom, Sothis?” he asked the voice in his head, but received no answer. 

Sleeping, perhaps. 

Byleth shrugged, looking around again to see if he could clear some room to get some exercises in. His body was aching for movement, for violence, but his services likely weren’t going to be required until tomorrow and it wasn’t even midday yet. 

And then he was supposed to figure out how in Hades he was going to become a professor, of all things, and teach these kids how to survive on the battlefield among other things he had absolutely no experience with. It almost made his head ache. 

“I’m a soldier, not an educator,” he muttered the words he’d spoken to Rhea and Seteth, then shook his head. 

This place was a school, so there had to be a library somewhere, right? Maybe he’d better get a head start on educating himself further, although every student in this place was likely far more intelligent than he would ever be. 

He had to start somewhere. 


	4. Three Houses

It was always good to start off the day with a crisp cup of tea and some light reading, Seteth decided as he sat in his office, a choice brew on his desk next to the recent submissions for the library. 

Company would be nice, depending on who it was, but Seteth usually favored Flayn’s presence above all else. This time, however, the choice was not his to make. 

“I only came to warn you of some of the, uh, activities that the Spartans tend to revel in,” Jeralt Eisner was seated across from him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

“Those... brutes that Lady Rhea saw fit to hire?” those men behaved like savages, getting into a fight just mere hours from arriving at the monastery. 

Jeralt’s face hardened. “My son is one of those brutes, if you recall. They have their quirks, but they’re the best damn soldiers I’ve ever seen.” 

“Right, right,” Seteth made a note to mind his tongue around this man, this stranger who Rhea trusted for some inexplicable reason. “Are they going to be a problem?” 

He took a sip of his tea, letting its warmth trickle down his throat and embrace his body. 

“Depends on how you view problems,” Jeralt sighed. “Keep them on your side, and they’ll be the fiercest warriors you’ll have, although they’ll be quite a headache at the same time. Just keep them busy and with other enemies to fight and they’ll be easier to control.” 

Hurried footsteps from the hall made Seteth pause in lifting his cup again, and a breathless guard burst into the office. 

“Seteth! There’s, uh, an issue in the training grounds that you need to see!” the man was flustered, perhaps from the run here, and Seteth made a note to check on the conditioning of the soldiers who served the Church if they were so easily winded. 

“Is it the Spartans?” Jeralt asked, sighing when the guard nodded. “I think I know what it is...” 

“What is it?” Seteth demanded, ideas already running through his mind. 

The old captain leaned back on the chair, running a hand over his weathered face. “I think it’ll be easier for you to see it for yourself.” 

Well, that was helpful. Seteth scowled at the old mercenary, his ancient senses almost feeling the strength rolling off of him. 

He would need to get Rhea to share more about him: this strength didn’t feel...natural. 

Seteth rose, shooting another glare at Jeralt before following the soldier down to the lower levels. They passed soldiers, staff, and students who were slowly awakening and beginning to breathe life into the crisp morning in the monastery, wyverns and pegasi casting their shadows from above as they began their patrols. 

He could see quite a crowd forming in front of the doors of the training ground, frowning at the revelation that the majority of that crowd were women. He could see several priestesses among the crowd, which made him scowl and memorize their faces in order to properly scold them later. They were chattering excitedly and pointing, making his first attempt to call out be drowned out by their voices. 

“Move aside, now!” Seteth roared with all the volume he could muster, his command making the crowd split apart as if he was breathing fire. 

“Uh, sir!” one guard, a male, saluted hastily as he gestured inside. “What should we do, um, about this?” 

“About...” Seteth’s words died on his lips. 

Ten buck-naked warriors were ‘training’ in the grounds, their massive bronze shields glinting as they swung wooden swords and spears at one another. Each of the warriors was muscular and weathered from years of combat, their well-built frames covered in scars while their long hair fell around their bearded faces, save for a blue-haired warrior without any facial hair. Was that one the new professor? Seteth hadn’t gotten a good look at the man’s face thanks to his helmet 

After several moments of violently whaling on one another with their wooden weapons, one of the men shouted something in a language Seteth didn’t understand. Eight of the men, including the one with blue hair, immediately formed two lines of four in the middle of the courtyard, their shields locking together to form a bronze wall. Two were pacing back and forth before the formation, bodies gleaming with sweat and colored with rather vicious-looking bruises and cuts. 

Another command from that strange tongue rang out, and the two men barreled towards the lines. A loud crash made Seteth wince as shields met shields in a violent impact, the men bouncing off the line as the defenders shoved back hard. 

They backed off, testing their arms and pacing again while the two lines traded places. That command rang out again, and the two soldiers slammed into the line with another harsh crash. 

Seteth’s brain all but slapped him back into focus and he stepped forward. “Professor Eisner!” 

The warriors who could only be the Spartans stopped what they were doing and looked back at him, the blue-haired warrior emerging from the back line and striding towards Seteth without any sort of shame or modesty. 

“You called?” Byleth Eisner asked, his scarred face deadpan while blue eyes reflecting no emotion or light bored into Seteth’s very soul. 

Power rolled off of this warrior’s every pore, his muscular body rippling with pure strength that Seteth had only felt from the wielders of the Relics. It almost made Seteth’s ancient instincts fire off. 

It took all of the effort of will Seteth could muster to keep his eyes on the upper part of Byleth’s naked body. “You...this... Put some clothes on, damn it! This isn’t how a professor is supposed to conduct themselves!” 

Byleth raised an eyebrow. “I’m not supposed to train? To strengthen my body?” 

“You can train, but just don’t do it naked!” Seteth blurted out, thanking the Goddess that Flayn wasn’t anywhere near these barbarians. 

“This is how Spartans train,” Byleth explained, his monotone voice drawing a chill up Seteth’s spine. “This is how I have trained since I was a child.” 

Did they have no sense of shame?! 

“Normally, we have oil to help protect our bodies, but we ran out a while ago and have yet to find a suitable replacement, which means I have to heal bruises, cuts, and broken bones more frequently, especially when we grapple,” Byleth continued speaking, perhaps not realizing that Seteth was scrutinizing him so intently. 

“Regardless, Professor, you are now going to be a role model for the students here, and this is not how we expect you to behave!” Seteth found his tongue again and pushed on, aware of the whispering going on behind him. “We have no qualms about you staying on top of your training, but keep yourself decent at least!” 

Byleth stared at him for several moments as if processing the words, then the man turned back to the other Spartans before barking in that strange tongue of theirs. A couple responded in short, annoyed phrases while shooting glares at Seteth, but Byleth shook his head and said something else. 

The Spartans grumbled but they shuffled over to where their crimson tunics and bronze armor pieces were resting on the ground and began throwing the garments on. A couple made rude gestures at Seteth, but he ignored them and folded his arms while Byleth made his way over to reclaim his own apparel. 

The new professor moved among the Spartans, speaking softly to them while light Seteth recognized as White magic moved over their various wounds. 

“He can use healing magic?” Seteth mused: that could explain how the Spartans survived if this brawling violence was what constituted as training for these savages. 

Byleth finished his rounds and threw his red tunic on over his head, then set about covering himself with bronze yet again. Seteth waited patiently for the professor to finish and make his way back to the doors, where the crowd was dispersing now that the main objects for their ogling were being covered up. 

“Was there anything else, Seteth?” the tall warrior asked, his face once again partially obscured by his crested bronze helmet. 

“Lady Rhea is going to give you your first assignment, so report to her as soon as possible,” Seteth answered, finding himself itching to get as far away from this warrior as possible. 

Everything about him felt...wrong, dangerous. Was Rhea truly wise in giving this brute a position in shaping the young minds of the Academy? 

That done, Seteth spun on his heel and walked away, seeing now why Jeralt had been hesitant to talk to him about this. 

These Spartans were something else, indeed. Seteth was going to have to get Jeralt to tell him everything he’d need to know about these warriors. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Ah, Professor, I hope you slept well!” Lady Rhea was waiting for Byleth when he strode into the audience chamber, her practiced smile and warm eyes not quite lighting up the room as she watched him approach. 

“I did, thank you, my lady,” Byleth bowed his head, tightening his grip on his newly-repaired shield. 

The shattered wood had been replaced by sturdy planks while the cratered bronze had been stripped away and replaced as well with spare metals, since bronze and iron were easy enough to acquire. The blacksmiths had apparently been flabbergasted by the Spartans’ use of bronze in armor, but they had plenty of the material to work with and easily smelted some down to cast a new outer layer for the hoplon. 

“I am pleased to hear that,” Rhea’s warm gaze almost burned into Byleth. “Now, it is time for your first assignment for the monastery: I would like you to introduce yourself to the heads of the three houses and the students so you might see which of the groups you’d like to teach.” 

“If that is your will, then it shall be carried out,” reverence would likely go far with this woman, given that it was what she was used to. 

Rhea gave a short laugh. “You needn’t be so formal, Professor! Just make the rounds and speak to everyone you can.” 

Byleth nodded, feeling a pair of eyes burning into the back of his neck. After he bowed again and turned around to see Seteth staring at him while Alois chattered away to the man, oblivious to the lack of attention. 

“I bet you were surprised to hear that I’d recommended you as a professor here!” the knight boomed, laughing jovially. “Well, ever since the previous candidate fled after our dustup with the bandits, we couldn’t rightly entrust our students to someone who abandoned them once before!” 

“Agreed, but we’ll see how this works out, won’t we?” Byleth walked through the doors, ignoring the guards as he shuffled downstairs to the main hall. 

He could hear dozens of students walking around and chattering to one another about classes, classmates, and several other topics of study that Byleth wasn’t familiar with. He almost ran over some kid with orange-brown eyes and dark skin nearly of the same hue upon hitting the ground floor. 

“Oh, my bad, kid. You okay?” he tried to apologize, but the boy waved him off and scurried off, his arms laden with cleaning supplies. “Guess he’s fine.” 

The moment he entered the great hall, he felt dozens of eyes fixate on him while the subjects of their conversations changed accordingly. 

“Is that him? The new professor Seteth was yelling at in the training yard?” 

“Didn’t he beat Thunder Catherine in a grapple?” 

“He beat her? The best of the best?” 

“How strong is he?” 

Byleth saw Edelgard standing at the other side of the room, her gaze immediately locking onto him, almost beckoning him. 

He answered her silent will by striding towards her, ignoring the students pondering all around him. 

“I’ve heard you’ve accepted a teaching position here,” she said in lieu of a greeting as he drew close enough to stand before her. “A pity. I was hoping you’d lend your strength to the Empire.” 

“I wasn’t given a choice, if I’m being honest,” Byleth shrugged, welcoming the weight of his armor and equipment. 

A bitter smile formed on her lips, her eyes glinting with some unfamiliar emotion. “Well, would you happen to have any interest in the Black Eagles?” 

He asked about those in her house, and received a lengthy lecture on each of the students in her class, ending with herself. 

“Well, you certainly have quite the group,” Byleth mused, making the girl smile a little more genuinely. 

“We certainly do,” she agreed, light gleaming in her eyes. “So, do you think you might be assigned to teach us?” 

“I still need to meet the other Houses,” Byleth shrugged. “But I do not know if Lady Rhea will assign them to us or if we’re going to choose.” 

Edelgard’s eyes hardened just for a moment before that brief rage vanished, replaced by the mask of someone used to dealing with questionable loyalty in those around her. 

“Well, just keep us in mind, will you?” she asked with a rather coy smile. 

“I will,” Byleth moved on through the doors to the courtyard that he’d seen earlier, where dozens of students were milling about and talking to one another. 

“Hey, there!” Claude was standing in front of the left-most of the three doors, a gold and white deer flag on the wall behind him. “Making the rounds?” 

“Yes, I am,” Byleth strode up to the boy and looked down at him, finding uncanny intelligence gleaming in those green irises. “Tell me about your house.” 

Like Edelgard, Claude went on to describe the students of his class, an odd but interesting bunch, and Byleth frowned to himself as a familiar name reached his ears. 

“Leonie?” he murmured. “Leonie... why does that name sound familiar?” 

Claude frowned thoughtfully. “Well, she did say that Jeralt came by her village once and trained her for a short time. She’s been beside herself with excitement ever since she heard he’d come back.” 

Then he remembered: Sauin Village, the little orange-haired girl that had hung around the Blade Breaker Company years ago, when Byleth had still been training in the agoge. He hadn’t interacted with her much, but he remembered that she’d immediately latched onto his father. 

“So, she’s here, huh? I certainly wasn’t expecting to see her again,” Byleth shook his head. “Thanks for getting the Spartans excited for fighting the Knights of Seiros, by the way.” 

Claude raised his hands defensively. “Hey, how was I supposed to know that they were actually going to brawl? I said that more along the lines of a ‘what if this happened’ sort of thing. I didn’t expect you guys to go out and start a fight!” 

“Fair enough, but if you say something hypothetical about a fight to one of the Spartans, they’ll do pretty much everything they can to actually make it happen,” Byleth warned the boy, who nodded 

“I’ll keep that in mind. See you around, Teach!” 

Byleth nodded and said his farewells to Claude, then moved over to where he could see Dimitri standing on the other side of the courtyard. 

“Ah, there you are!” Dimitri smiled at him, but there was a hesitation in his eyes. “I hope you’ll forgive me: I never properly introduced myself. I am Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Crown Prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus.” 

“A pleasure,” Byleth nodded. “Tell me about your class.” 

Knights and honor... that’s all he heard from the boy’s mouth after he finished describing his companions, that and the skirt chaser. This group... it seemed they were fixated on the ideals of honor and integrity on the battlefield, which would only lead to unnecessary deaths if their opponent broke their self-imposed rules. 

“Thank you for your time, Dimitri,” Byleth glanced at the three doors of the classrooms. “I suppose I’ll go meet everyone.” 

Starting with the ‘honorable’ knights of Faerghus. He strode into the central classroom and was immediately bombarded by students in gold and black, easily picking out the members of Dimitri’s class. He tried to talk to them one-on-one, but the rush of students bombarding him with questions eventually pushed him out of the room. 

It seemed they all wanted to see the mercenary who’d not only rescued their House leader but had also beaten Thunder Catherine in a grapple. Aside from the incessant questions, he could hear students talking about how the academy would teach them everything they needed to become true knights of Faerghus, how they would bring honor to their families, and how they would keep up the proud traditions of the Kingdom. The only one who didn’t talk was the dark-skinned giant, who Byleth assumed was the Duscur native, Dedue. 

Honor, integrity, tradition...it would be difficult to push through those ideals if he was to teach these kids how to survive on a battlefield. The knights he’d met in the past were always pompous fools who often complained that their opponents weren’t being ‘honorable’ enough in battle and expected long, drawn out traditions for duels between their kind. 

It was always so tedious... 

“Hey, wait up!” a girl with a long braid of blonde hair raced out after Byleth as he gave up on trying to meet the entire class. “I wanted to thank you, as a citizen of Faerghus and aspiring knight, for rescuing Prince Dimitri.” 

Did she think she had an obligation to thank him? What traditions were these Kingdom people following? 

“I was doing my duty,” Byleth informed her, rolling his shield-holding arm to loosen the muscles. 

The girl bowed to him, nonetheless. “Regardless, my name is Ingrid Brandl Galatea, and I look forward to seeing you around here!” 

The knight-lover Dimitri had spoken of. Byleth had the feeling she was going to be a stubborn one. 

“Likewise, Ingrid,” after she hurried off, Byleth moved towards the Golden Deer classroom and found it equally hectic. 

“Oh, that’s him!” an orange-haired girl who could only be Leonie immediately rushed up to him, her orange jacket tied around her waist. “Byleth! It’s been a while, hasn’t it!” 

“Leonie, it’s good to see you again after all this time,” Byleth nodded. 

His memories of her were fuzzy at best; the duo hadn’t spent much time together back in Sauin village, but Byleth remembered Leonie following Jeralt around like a lost puppy whenever he saw her. 

“Is the captain around, by any chance?” she asked, looking behind Byleth as if his father would appear. 

“Not that I’m aware of,” he answered. “How is it that you ended up here?” 

Leonie puffed her chest out with pride. “The village scraped together enough to send me here, but I was the one who passed the entrance exams and earned my way in. I’ll use what I learn here to become a renowned mercenary like Captain Jeralt and help everyone I can just like you guys did.” 

“Oh, are you the mercenary everyone’s been talking about?” a rather attractive girl with pink twintails strode up, the calculating glint in her eyes making Byleth’s defense instincts rear up. “I’m Hilda Valentine Goneril! It’s a pleasure to meet you!” 

The lazy one Claude had spoken of, stating she’d been somewhat coddled by her brother and father. 

“Byleth Eisner,” he answered. “And likewise, Lady Hilda.” 

She giggled, the gesture seeming somewhat forced to the soldier, despite how naturally it came to her. 

“Hilda, don’t tell me you’re already trying to butter this guy up!” a short girl with hair the same hue as Edelgard stormed up, her light violet irises shooting a vicious glare at Hilda. “Why don’t you do your own work for once?!” 

That must be Lysithea: the extremely intelligent girl Claude was talking about. Was she related to Edelgard, somehow? Both of them had purple-hued eyes and white hair, so he supposed it wasn’t too far-fetched. 

“Wow, no need to be so rude, Lysithea,” Hilda pouted, the gesture drawing the likeness of a kicked puppy to Byleth for some reason. 

Lysithea turned to Byleth after huffing at Hilda. “I am Lysithea von Ordelia. Please do not forget it.” 

“Byleth Eisner. A pleasure,” he bowed to the girl, who gave him a small smile and straightened a bit more. 

“It’s nice to have someone not treat me like a child for once,” she muttered, returning the bow before walking away and seating herself at one of the long tables filling the room. 

She then proceeded to bury her nose into the thick tome in front of her, her mouth moving silently along with the words. 

“So, are you going to be joining us?” Leonie finally butted back into the conversation. “It’d be nice to have you in this class.” 

“Perhaps. It’s not really up to me, but Lady Rhea wanted me to meet the students of the houses,” Byleth shrugged. 

“Oh, is she going to hire you and the captain or something?” Leonie mused, unaware that she had hit the nail right on the head. 

“It’s up to her,” Byleth shrugged. “I have to meet the Black Eagles, so I’ll see you around.” 

Leonie nodded and thrust her hand out. “It was good to see you again after all this time! It looks like you’re still training with those foreigners, huh?” 

“The Spartans, yes,” Byleth took the girl’s strong grip in his free hand. “I finally earned the right to call myself one not too long ago.” 

“Congratulations! I’ll see you around!” Leonie let go and strode back towards a hulking young man whose shirt was clearly struggling to contain his muscular frame, his almost babyish face offsetting his huge bulk. 

Damn, how much did that guy have to eat to keep that body moving?! 

Byleth moved towards the last classroom, the clanking of his armor immediately getting the attention of the half-dozen or so people milling about within. 

A shriek from the girl with ruffled purple hair preceded her diving behind the tall and gloomy boy next to her: Bernadetta and...Hubert, maybe? 

“Hey, there!” a musical voice announced an attractive girl wearing a small hat over her carefully tended brown locks, her green eyes bright and inviting as she gave him a winning smile. “Another new face! Would you like me to show you around sometime?” 

“That would be welcome, thank you, Miss?” 

“Dorothea Arnault,” the songstress curtsied, then winked at him. “But you can just call me Dorothea!” 

“Byleth Eisner,” he bowed to her, and she lifted a well-manicured hand to pink lips. 

“Oh! You’re the mercenary who saved Edie!” she scrutinized him from head to toe. “I can see why she was gushing with praise for you when she got back! You look so strong and handsome!” 

“Enough, Dorothea,” tall, dark, and gloomy strode over, menace all but radiating from every pore in his body. “Lady Edelgard was not ‘gushing with praise’ over this...mercenary.” 

“Oh, come off it, Hubie!” Dorothea scowled at him, placing her hands on her hips. “From what Edie described, this impressive mercenary single-handedly held off a small army of bandits until Edie and Dimitri rushed out to help him!” 

“Yeah, and she also said that he saved her from the bandit leader after that!” a muscular boy with short light blue hair strode up, his sleeves bunched up around his elbows. “Anyone who’s that strong has my respect!” 

Hubert scoffed and stalked off, muttering dark oaths under his breath. 

“Eh, don’t mind Hubert: he’s always ‘Lady Edelgard’ this or ‘Lady Edelgard’ that,” the boy rolled his eyes before turning to Byleth. “I’m Caspar, by the way! Pleased to meet you!” 

“A pleasure to meet you, Caspar,” Byleth nodded, and the tolling of bells filled the monastery. 

It was time to go back to Rhea, it would seem. 

“I’ll see you around!” Dorothea gave him a dainty little wave before walking away. 

These students were all quite unique, huh. Byleth hurried through a near stampede of black and gold as the students rushed to get to their classrooms on time, shoving his way forward through the mass with ease until he found himself heading back up to Rhea’s audience chamber. 

He found Hanneman and Manuela already there, standing before Rhea and Seteth. 

“Ah, good, you’ve returned!” Rhea gave him a gentle smile. “I hope you found our halls brimming with well-intentioned souls!” 

“They are certainly a unique bunch,” Byleth took a spot between the other two professors and waited for what was to come. 

“Now, it is time for you to take charge of one of the academy’s three houses,” Seteth declared, folding his arms while glaring at Byleth. “You will be in charge of shaping the students here in a manner that reflects well on the Church.” 

“I choose the Black Eagle House!” Manuela blurted, earning a glare from everyone in the room. 

“Manuela!” Hanneman protested. “We agreed that Professor Eisner, here, would take the first pick because he is new!” 

“I know, I know,” Manuela raised her hands defensively. “But that was before I learned that my dear Dorothea is attending in the Black Eagle House! I will absolutely not allow anyone besides myself to teach her!” 

“Manuela,” Seteth sighed, rubbing his eyes while shaking his head. 

“It’s fine,” Byleth interrupted before the physician/songstress could get any further complaints. “I choose the Blue Lion House.” 

Those kids were mired in tradition and clearly had no experience of real battle, if their talk of honor and knightly valor said anything. If they weren’t shown the real horror of battle and the real strength that was needed to survive it, then they would be killed by the first rogue to get a knife in their backs. 

“Then I will take the Golden Deer House,” Hanneman grumbled, glaring at Manuela until she stuck her tongue out at him. 

“Very well!” Seteth announced. “There will be a mock battle between the houses in two days, to allow you to get a feel for the students on the battlefield. I trust you will use the time you have to set up your lecture schedules and train your students a bit.” 

“I wish you good luck for the upcoming year!” Rhea said with a cheerful smile, her eyes fixed firmly on Byleth. “May the Goddess watch over all of you.” 

Right... 

The Academy courtyard was empty by the time he made his way back to the Blue Lion classroom, and he stood in silence before the classroom door, trying to think of good words to introduce himself with. 

“Oh, to Hades with it...” he pushed open the door and strode in, immediately silencing the voices inside as the eight students turned to face him. 

“Huh?! You’re our Professor?” a girl with orange hair ending in curls around her shoulders cried, the older girl with lighter blonde hair tied into a single tail on her left shoulder making a disapproving noise. 

“Annie, that wasn’t very nice!” she chided, the other girl spluttering an apology. 

“No harm done,” Byleth shook his head and approached the group, eyeing everyone present to get a feel for them. 

Three girls, five boys, the graduating class for the Kingdom that was under Byleth’s direction. There were many other students in the House, yes, but those would be taught by aides and monks, or so Seteth had said. 

“You’re pretty young, huh?” the red-haired boy spoke up. “I guess? I can’t really tell with that helmet on.” 

“I am twenty-one, so it appears I am a little bit older than most of you,” Byleth saw Ingrid staring at him and nodded to her. “In that case, I do not mind if you treat me as if I am a colleague of yours rather than just your Professor. I’m not one for formalities.” 

That might make it a little easier to interact and work with them, if he broke down some of the barriers dividing them. 

“I appreciate the offer, Professor, but it would be rude if we just disregarded your position, especially since I owe you my life,” Dimitri insisted. 

“I have no qualms with it,” Byleth assured him. “Just don’t go crazy with it.” 

“I look forward to sparring with you and beating you,” the blue-haired boy with a face etched with anger declared, at which Ingrid began griping about his violent tendencies. 

“So, why don’t we go to the training grounds to get to know each other?” Dimitri suggested. 

“Must it always be crossing blades with you, Your Highness? I’d prefer a nice cup of tea...” the redhead, which Byleth guessed was Sylvain the skirt chaser, complained. 

“I agree with Dimitri,” Byleth said. “We have a mock battle in two days and I need to test your combat efficiency for myself. Come.” 

It was a short walk to the training grounds, and Byleth was marginally impressed to see that the Golden Deer House was already there, working through their own routines. 

“Take what weapons you prefer and form up in front of me,” Byleth picked up a wooden lance and gestured at the other training weapons, testing the weight and balance of his own weapon. 

It was a little too light for comfort, but he supposed it would work. 

Ingrid, Sylvain, and Dimitri all picked up lances while the angry blue kid- Felix? - picked up a sword and the giant Dedue had taken up an axe. The last boy, Byleth assumed that was Ashe, had picked up a bow, while Mercedes and Annette just took stances indicative of magic users. 

Two mages, an archer, one axeman, one swordsman, and three lancers. Not too bad, but it would take time to hone them into warriors if none of them had ever seen combat. 

An explosion of power behind them made everyone jump, followed by a shriek. 

“Lysithea! Do not burn down the training grounds!” Hanneman’s shout made Byleth look over to see the professor and the white-haired girl desperately trying to douse the blazing remains of a target dummy. 

“Man, she’s a talented little cutie, isn’t she?” Sylvain chuckled behind Byleth. “A shame she isn’t older.” 

A spark lit somewhere in Byleth. “Touch the girl before she’s eighteen, and I will throw you off a mountain, skirt chaser.” 

He turned back and sent the sternest glare he could muster at the kid, who wilted immediately while muttering apologies. Dimitri and Ingrid chuckled at the expense of their friend, who shot a wounded look at them. 

“All of you get into position,” Byleth ordered, stepping about roughly twenty feet away from his trainees. 

The three lancers took point, leveling their weapons in a rough imitation of a phalanx while Dedue stood off to their flank. Ashe, Mercedes, and Annette made a line in the back, ready to lob fire over the heads of their allies. 

It was a workable formation, but he could see the way they wavered while trying to keep their place intact. 

“For honor!” Dimitri and Ingrid shouted in almost perfect unison before charging forward. 

Sylvain and Dedue scrambled to keep up, leaving the line’s flanks open while the ranged troops lagged behind. 

“You’re being too ambitious,” Byleth sidestepped the two lancers, nearly jumping when Dimitri’s wooden lance shattered as it hit the ground, sending wooden shrapnel flying. “And destroying your weapons.” 

A quick swipe of his lance knocked Ingrid’s feet out from under her while he slammed the heavy face of his hoplon against Dimitri. Both tumbled to the ground with pained grunts, and Byleth settled into a defensive stance to face the rest of them. 

“Your Highness!” Dedue immediately made a beeline for Byleth, lifting his axe in both hands for a powerful overhand swing while Sylvain tried to dart around the side, not even attempting to cover his standing ally. 

Byleth crouched a bit lower, lifting his shield as if to take the blow Dedue was about to bring down upon him, then surged forward the moment the overhand strike set into motion. The axe head almost completely missed the upper rim of the hoplon while Dedue’s heavy body slammed into its face. Byleth crouched and hefted the massive weight of the giant man onto his body, riding the momentum to effectively carry Dedue overhead on the shield and hurl him onto the ground behind them. 

“Whoa, that was impressive!” Sylvain chuckled, right as Byleth thrust the blunt butt of his lance at the boy, wood meeting resistance as it sank into his abdomen. 

“Focus: on the battlefield, a single moment’s distraction could be your end,” Byleth warned the groaning boy as he sank to his knees, clutching at his gut. “If this had been my spear, the sauroter would have pierced you and you would be dead.” 

He looked back at the ranged students currently staring at him in awe, spreading his arms in a challenge. “And where was the ranged support? If you don’t support your allies, they will fail and you will be left defenseless.” 

That snapped them back into reality. 

“Oh, sorry, Professor!” Mercedes lifted her hands and chanted, a pale arcane circle flaring to life in her hands. 

A bolt of white magic streaked towards him, but he easily ducked beneath it. 

“Duck, sir!” Ashe’s voice was followed by the twang of a bow, but the warning gave Byleth enough extra time to fully cover himself with his shield. 

The impact of wood on bronze made his arm rattle, and Byleth straightened to peer over the rim while keeping his body shielded. 

“I appreciate the warning, but an arrow against a target with a large shield may as well be poking a bear with a stick,” he said to the boy fumbling with his bow, trying to nock another arrow, then his gaze shifted to the girls standing beside him. “And what are you two doing? You should be keeping up a continuous barrage of spells to keep your target pinned down, especially if they’re heavily armored.” 

Annette flinched. “W-we know that! We just didn’t want to hurt you by firing too many at a time!” 

“Treat me as if I were an enemy trying to take your life,” Byleth ordered, holding his shield out before him and resting the wooden lance on its steel rim. 

He then advanced without warning, both girls yelping and stumbling over their chants while Ashe fired off another arrow that sailed wide. He swept the lance wide, narrowly kissing Mercedes’s and Annette’s vulnerable throats in quick succession before swinging his shield and halting the rim just inches away from Ashe’s pale, wide-eyed face. 

“And now you’re all dead,” he announced, looking back at the bruised and beaten melee fighters picking themselves up off the ground. “You have little to no-” 

Then it hit him, and he quickly did a count of the Blue Lions. 

“Seven. Who in Hades...where is the angry one?” Byleth demanded, his gaze lifting to where the blue-haired kid was whaling away at a training dummy many feet away from the rest of his defeated House. 

“Felix! Why didn’t you help us?!” Ingrid demanded, but the swordsman ignored her. 

A lesson needed to be administered here, it would seem. 

Byleth tossed the lance up and caught it in a throwing hold, calculating the distance and then hurling it with as little force as he could muster. 

The projectile slammed into Felix’s shoulder, making him partially spin from the force of the blow while a pained curse hissed out from clenched teeth. 

“What the hell?!” he whirled, clutching the wounded shoulder while glaring daggers at Byleth. “What was that for?!” 

“You abandoned your allies and left them to face me alone,” Byleth gestured at the defeated Blue Lions. “Negligence will not be tolerated.” 

“If I’m going to fight you, I’ll do it alone. I don’t need anyone’s help,” Felix spat, rolling his shoulder and wincing at the pain. 

“Then you will die alone,” Byleth walked over and held his hand out to the wound, channeling the healing magic Argo had taught him. “I am doing this to see how well you work together and to gauge your strengths and weaknesses, and I see that I have much to work on before the mock battle.” 

“Then we have much training to do,” Dimitri had dusted himself off and had pulled Ingrid to her feet, tossing his broken lance into a barrel before picking up a new one. “Shall we, Professor?” 

Byleth nodded, appreciating Dimitri’s candid attitude as he settled into his stance again. 

“Let’s.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing that always bothered me was how Leonie always gushed over the time she spent with Jeralt yet neither she nor Byleth had any interactions whatsoever during that time. I tweaked that a little bit by making them remember each other but not spend a huge amount of time together in an attempt to fix that since, I mean, Byleth had to have been roughly a teenager or maybe a pre-teen by the time Leonie met Jeralt, so why wouldn't he have been with Jeralt at that time? I don't remember if that issue was touched in-game, so feel free to let me know if I missed something obvious. I've been trying to stick to everyone's in-game personality, especially Felix and Ingrid. Also, I would protect Lysithea with my life. Best girl.


	5. Mock Battle

It was time for the mock battle and Byleth was certain that his students were going to flounder magnificently. He’d drilled them mercilessly throughout the two days that he’d had for preparation before this bout, but their form had only slightly improved, as had their teamwork. 

All he could do as the class marched out to a large field set below the monastery was hope that the other classes were equally inexperienced. From what he could tell, only Dimitri and possibly Felix had any real experience on the battlefield, so this victory would likely rest solely on his own shoulders. 

The weather was warm and pleasant, with sunlight filtering through puffy white clouds and painting a picture of false serenity over the field. Or it would, if this were an actual battle. All the combatants would be going back to the monastery after this, alive and maybe a little and bruised. 

This would be one of the first battles in which the rest of the Spartans wouldn’t even be on the field with him, fighting or watching or anything. 

All eight of his students were gathered around him, their faces grim or lit up with anticipation as the three classes took up positions on their chosen battlefield. 

“Let’s do this, Professor,” Dimitri clutched his wooden lance tightly at Byleth’s side, his gaze following where a distant Edelgard and Manuela were setting up the Black Eagles. 

“Stay close together and obey my orders,” Byleth answered, frowning as he watched Claude and the other Golden Deer melt into the cover of a copse of trees on the field’s western edge. 

“Yes, sir!” Mercedes declared with no small amount of enthusiasm, Annette pumping her fists at her side. 

“Let’s see if this torture you call training actually helps at all,” Sylvain muttered, massaging the spot on his gut where Byleth had repeatedly slammed the wooden butt of his lance over these past two days. 

It had become an attractive target, especially since the boy could barely defend it. 

“If it helps keep you alive, then it works,” Byleth said to him. “And you have only gone through two days of it.” 

“And I already want to die because of it,” Sylvain shot back. “Seriously, how can I expect to get any girls if your torture makes me a sweaty, smelly mess every day?” 

“Maybe it’ll teach you to actually make you take this training seriously instead of obsessing over who’s going to be sharing your bed every night?” Ingrid snickered. 

A trumpet blared in the distance; the signal to begin. 

“Move!” Byleth hefted his hoplon and training lance and set off at a slow jog towards the forest that the Golden Deer had melted into. 

He could hear orders being fired from Edelgard while Lorenz bickered with Claude and then volunteered Ignatz and Raphael to help him charge the front lines. 

“Dorothea, Bernadetta: I want you to probe the Blue Lions, try to draw their attention between us and the Golden Deer. I’m sure Claude has some trickery planned and I’d rather not be caught in it while trying to fight off the new Professor,” Edelgard was shouting to her troops, broadcasting her plans to everyone in the vicinity. 

Not that she had any other choice: there were no runners or officers to relay orders. 

“Dimitri, Sylvain, Ingrid: with me. Mercedes, Annette, Ashe: you fend off the Eagles’ probe,” Byleth ordered, the familiar spark of battle fervor igniting within him. “Mind your limits.” 

“Right!” 

Byleth took the lead with the lancers, his shield the only one in their formation as they set up a line of wooden spears to catch the onrushing Lorenz and Raphael. Felix and Dedue stood off on the flanks, waiting to dart around or push out in order to cover their allies. 

Everyone taking part in this mock battle had been marked with magic that would illuminate a bright red should the student take a blow significant enough to be lethal if they were using real weapons. That way, the defeated students would have to withdraw rather than shrug off a killing blow while pretending not to be hit. 

Lorenz lunged at the formation while Raphael tried to flank, and three lances punched into the nobleman, immediately igniting his magic marker. 

“Defeated?” he spluttered, glaring at the Blue Lions as if this were utterly insufferable. 

Dedue intercepted Raphael and took a few quick blows to the gut before his own axe blows knocked the muscle-bound brawler out of the fight. An arrow from Ignatz pinged off of Byleth’s hoplon and he advanced quickly towards the boy, who dropped his next shot in panic. 

“You tried,” Byleth told him before punching his gut with the blunt head of his spear. 

Ignatz stumbled back, wheezing as his own marker ignited. 

Magic crackled and flared to life to the east, drawing Byleth’s attention to where Annette and Mercedes were dueling a desperate Dorothea who was diving and scrabbling to avoid wind and fire while the Blue Lions continued wasting shots trying to hit her. 

“Mind your aim! Conserve your shots!” Byleth yelled over to them. “Annette, just use your axe!” 

And where was that Bernadetta girl who was supposed to be supporting Dorothea? 

“I told you not to underestimate the new professor, Lorenz!” Claude yelled out from the cover of the trees, where a pair of sharpened stake barricades were blocking the only path inside. 

“We move around the trees, try to dislodge Claude,” Byleth said to the Blue Lions at his side. “Ignore the Eagles for now but keep an eye on them. I don’t want to be flanked.” 

“Yes, Professor!” Dimitri nodded. 

“Yes, sir!” Ingrid echoed. 

“This is just pathetic,” Felix complained. “They’re not even putting up a real fight.” 

“Would you rather charge Edelgard on your own?” Byleth pointed at the obvious trap that Claude had set up for them. “Or that? If you’re so intent on disobeying my orders, feel free to sprig everything the Golden Deer have laid for us.” 

An arrow, much more accurate and steadier than Ignatz’s shot, hit the ground inches away from Byleth’s feet: an obvious bait. 

“We’re going around,” he told his students, lifting his shield to take another shot from Claude. 

The power behind the projectile actually sent a tremor up his arm, and Byleth nodded to himself. Kid was more dangerous than he looked, but wood wasn’t going to do much against hardened bronze and iron. 

The Blue Lions jogged by the trees, which then ended in another path around the Golden Deer’s position. An arrow whizzed overhead, perhaps another attempt at distraction or laying further bait. 

“Form up and stay close,” Byleth ordered, his finely-honed battle senses screaming a warning as something shuffled in the trees. “Mind those trees! There might be more waiting for us.” 

Right as he said that, something sparked in the trees, followed by an explosion. Two more arrows whizzed overhead, just narrowly missing Dedue’s head. 

“Gah! Marianne, you ran right into me!” Lysithea squawked from the epicenter of the burst of dark energy. 

“S-sorry!” came the squeak from the blue-haired noble. “I’m not good for anything, am I...” 

“You just blew our cover! I would have taken the Professor out if you hadn’t blundered into me!” 

Byleth and Dimitri moved into the trees and came to the ambush point: a smoking clearing with blasted trees and shrubbery while the two mage girls were picking themselves up, covered in dirt. 

“You were aiming for me? I’m honored,” Byleth drawled as he poked Lysithea in the chest with his lance. 

“Sorry, Marianne,” Dimitri said as he did the same to the other girl. 

Both of their markers ignited and Lysithea huffed in frustration, folding her arms and glaring at a particularly offensive piece of wooden shrapnel that had entangled itself into her long hair. 

An idea hit Byleth and he held his hand out to the younger girl. “Why don’t you two come with us? See how your House fares?” 

“I can manage just fine on my own, thank you!” Lysithea snapped at him and pushed herself to stand, only to stumble in her haste. 

Byleth caught her shoulder and released her after she was steady. “I know, but I was curious as to what you would think of the fight to come.” 

“I think the outcome will be obvious here,” Lysithea dusted herself off before giving Byleth a curious look-over. “You are the youngest professor present yet you have far more combat experience than Manuela and Hanneman combined. You immediately detected Claude’s trap and moved around it while fending off the Eagles. While I was supposed to blast anyone smart enough to flank my class, I don’t think it would have been enough to take you out.” 

She gestured at his shield. “Bronze is a hard material to hit with magic: it naturally deflects some of the power of whatever spells hit it, and you’re covered head to toe in it, with a massive shield, too.” 

“Wait, bronze deflects magic?” Byleth raised an eyebrow: this was the first he’d heard of such a thing. 

“Partially. I heard that you had a lot more Spartans once, but you lost most of them to a Ragnarok spell,” Lysithea walked at Byleth’s side as he returned to the Blue Lions, who were sourly glaring off at the eastern flank. “Such a powerful spell would certainly have been lethal to a tightly-packed formation, but it seems that the bronze you wore helped at least some of you survive. Deflected just enough of the blast to keep you alive. I imagine you and the other survivors were quite sore for days afterwards.” 

“We were,” Byleth nodded, then looked over at the eastern flank, where a red-marked Mercedes and Annette were trudging away from the battlefield while Edelgard, Ferdinand, and Caspar were retreating back to their allies. 

Dorothea was kneeling next to a shivering purple-haired ball of Bernadetta while both of their chests shone red, apparently trying to comfort the girl. 

“Good shooting, Ashe,” Byleth said to the winded archer as he rejoined the class, clutching his bow and his mostly-emptied quiver. “I take it you were the one who took out those two?” 

“Barely,” Ashe sighed, shaking his head. “Bernadetta tripped while trying to run back to the monastery and hide and Dorothea ran out to help her. Both of them made for pretty easy targets even after Edelgard and the other two showed up to get Annette and Mercedes. I... I couldn’t protect them.” 

“No harm done as of yet,” Byleth shrugged. “I know some White magic.” 

“Then we’re even more fortunate to have you,” Dimitri nodded, a frown on his lips as he gazed out at the general direction of Edelgard’s forces. 

“You’re quite impressive, Professor,” Lysithea commented, glancing at the forest. “I don’t know what else Claude has planned, by the way.” 

“We’ve wasted enough time dawdling,” Byleth decided. “Lions, on me! We need to take out the rest of the Deer before Claude can set something else up.” 

“It should just be him, Professor Hanneman, Hilda, and Leonie now,” Sylvain pointed out, a curious expression on his face. “Pity: those two girls are quite the lookers. You, too, Marianne!” 

The girl jolted. “Um, thanks?” 

“Focus or I take you out of the fight, myself,” Byleth warned. 

“Uh, right!” 

The Blue Lions retook their formation and then marched back around the forest, finding themselves facing a small shack in the back of a clearing, where Hanneman was standing and apparently waiting for something. 

The group moved cautiously out of the cover of the trees, eyes roaming over the forest. Something moved from within the trees, and Byleth hurled himself forward to intercept two arrows fired off one after the other. 

“Ha!” a throwing axe came spinning out of the woods, but the thing bounced harmlessly off the ground several feet away from Byleth. “Oh, come on!” 

“Come on, let’s get them!” Ingrid and Felix surged forward before Byleth could stop them. 

Right after he lost sight of them, the sounds of branches snapping reached his ears, quickly followed by surprised screams and thuds. 

“Take them out!” Hilda and Leonie burst from the trees, streaking towards Ashe and Dedue. 

Byleth moved on instinct, jabbing his lance at Leonie and forcing her to leap back. 

“I’ll show you what an apprentice of Captain Jeralt can do!” she declared, feinting with her lance before jabbing once towards him to gauge his defenses. 

Typical training for a beginner, but not quite effective against a shield big enough to cover your entire torso. 

Wood thunked against bronze, Leonie dancing to the side in anticipation of a follow-up from Byleth, as per the spear-form training instilled by Jeralt, but Byleth wasn’t just trained in those movements. 

He surged forward with his shield, catching Leonie and knocking her full force onto the ground before finishing her off with a quick thrust of his own lance. 

“Ow! Okay, I surrender!” Hilda was yelping from behind. 

Byleth looked over to see that Dimitri and Sylvain had made short work of the girl, making her markers glow in several places. 

“Man, you really don’t go easy on us, do you?” Claude emerged from the trees, an empty quiver on his back. “Hey, Dimitri! You got a crush on Edelgard, right? Come on, fess up! You’ll feel better!” 

Dimitri and Byleth glared at him, and the guy wilted. 

“Nothing? Not even from an elite mercenary or the crown prince?” Claude deflated. “All right, I know when I’m beaten. Just get it over with.” 

Byleth moved over and jabbed once into Claude’s vitals, making his abdomen glow red. 

“You’re terrifying, you know that?” the boy asked. “I can see why they call you the Bronze Demon.” 

“Come,” Byleth said to his remaining troops while Hilda griped about her bruised skin. “We need to take out the Eagles and we can get Ingrid and Felix later. Pit trap?” 

Claude nodded. “Leonie’s idea.” 

“Smart,” Byleth nodded to the wannabe mercenary, who grinned with pride. 

“Should we check on them?” Sylvain asked. 

“We’re fine!” Ingrid called out from the forest. 

They ignored his orders and rushed blindly ahead, so perhaps this would allow them time to think on their choices. There was another crash from the traps, followed by a stream of cursing from Felix. 

“I’ll get them out,” Leonie promised as she darted into the woods, lighting up the brush with her marker. 

“Let’s move,” Byleth strode towards Hanneman, who was currently staring at the Blue Lions in awe. 

“I must say: compared to someone with actual combat experience, I was next to useless!” the old professor declared, shaking his head. “I see no point in struggling further. You have beaten me.” 

Byleth tapped the man’s chest to activate his marker, then looked around at the forces he had left. There was Sylvain, Dimitri, Dedue, and Ashe. Half of his class had been taken down, two because they’d been left alone because he overestimated them, and two because they’d disobeyed orders and rushed ahead. 

They needed to learn discipline and definitely needed to condition their bodies and resolves, and to learn when to hold their ground and when to make a fighting retreat. He had much to teach them and to beat into them if necessary. 

Spartan training was brutal but efficient, and Byleth intended to use every part of it as well as he could. 

“Professor, I don’t think Edelgard is waiting,” Dimitri gestured eastwards with his lance, where the Black Eagles were surging towards the Blue Lions, Edelgard and Hubert at their head. 

“Form up! Stay close together!” Byleth shouted, his eyes meeting Edelgard’s. 

“Show me what an elite mercenary is capable of!” she called, her lips split into a wicked grin. 

“Time to see who’s stronger, Edelgard!” Dimitri shouted back at her, but she barely registered him as her eyes bore into Byleth. 

Focusing on him, huh? Dangerous, to hone in onto one person and ignore the rest, even if you had faith in your allies. 

“Ashe, take out Hubert,” Byleth ordered, crouching into his battle stance. “Dimitri, Sylvain: take cover behind my shield. Dedue: behind me!” 

The boys moved accordingly, the two nobles awkwardly cramming their bodies into cover behind the wide hoplon as best as they could while Dedue crouched behind Byleth as much as his large frame allowed. 

Get this guy in armor and a large shield and he would be unstoppable, Byleth mused. An arrow hissed outwards and narrowly missed Hubert, interrupting the mage’s chant as he shot a murderous glare at his attacker. 

“I’ll go for Edelgard,” Byleth told the trio. “The second I move forward, branch out and attack who’s closest to you. Linhardt needs to go as soon as possible before he can heal them, and I’m not seeing Manuela, so she’s probably hanging back like Hanneman did. Quick, clean strikes.” 

“Right!” 

“Understood.” 

“Got it! Leave it to me!” 

“I’d be honored!” 

“Ashe, focus!” Another arrow whizzed outwards, this one slamming into Hubert’s chest and knocking him back onto his rear as his marker blazed to life. “Nice shot.” 

“That was my last arrow!” 

The Black Eagles were nearly upon them, shouting wordless battle cries, and Byleth silently tensed his muscles, waiting for his instincts to guide him once again. 

Closer...closer....now! 

Byleth surged towards Edelgard in a bronze wall, but the girl jumped and swung at his head. He threw himself down on one knee beneath the shield, feeling the wooden axe cruise through the horsehair crest on his helmet right as Edelgard’s feet hit the hoplon. 

She pushed off, jumping over him, and Byleth whirled just in time to catch her second strike with his shield. 

“Not bad at all, my teacher,” she grinned, jumping back to escape his lance thrust. 

“Likewise for you,” she was quite skilled and strong. 

A pity he wasn’t teaching her, but he didn’t have time to worry about that. Wooden weapons cracked together behind him, interspersed by grunts and shouts from the fighting students. 

He rose and assumed his battle stance again, focusing solely on Edelgard while his class battled behind him. 

Edelgard lunged, her red shoulder cape and white hair billowing behind her as she swiped at Byleth with her axe. He met her blow with his hoplon, pins and needles going up his arms from the sheer power behind her strike, then thrust out with his lance to get her off-balance. 

Edelgard danced out of reach, swinging her axe to deflect his lance. He advanced towards her, bearing down behind a wall of bronze while his lance bristled out from on top of the rim. She feinted one strike, then another, and when Byleth tried to bash her with the shield, she darted to the side with surprising agility. 

He would need to take this much more seriously, it would seem! 

Byleth held his shield close to his body and swung out wide with his lance, forcing Edelgard to duck beneath his strike. Using all of the strength he could muster, he reversed his strike and tried to bash the haft of his lance against his foe, but she deftly caught the blow on her axe and skidded from the force behind it. 

“Impressive,” Byleth pulled his weapon back and resumed his stance as Edelgard readied her axe. 

She was breathing a little heavier than before and her long hair was slightly disheveled from the flow of combat, but her eyes were gleaming as she grinned at her opponent. 

“This is quite exhilarating, my teacher,” she said, taking the axe in both hands. “But I don’t plan on losing!” 

“Neither do I,” something stirred inside of him, a warmth that he hadn’t felt for a long time now crackling through his veins. 

Edelgard lunged, darting this way and that in an attempt to confuse him as the warmth buzzed through him, making the world grow brighter and slow down all at the same time. 

He swung at the same time Edelgard did, his lance smashing through her axe and shattering the wooden haft before landing a solid blow on her chest. Her eyes widened as she stumbled backwards, her lips parted in a soft gasp as an otherworldly light flared to life before Byleth. 

The strange symbol, just a few obscure lines that seemed vaguely familiar to Byleth, flared brightly once more before vanishing along with the warmth in his body, leaving him feeling hollow even as his head buzzed and swam. 

“Whoa, the new professor has a Crest?!” an awed voice made his head swivel back to the field, where the Black Eagles and Blue Lions had stopped fighting. 

“Crest?” Byleth took note of the markers on the rest of his class save for Dimitri, frowning at the sheer number of red marks glowing on Dedue. 

“You didn’t tell me you had a Crest, Professor Eisner!” Hanneman was almost jumping from foot to foot with excitement as he all but sprinted over, eyes gleaming. 

The Black Eagles had all been defeated, it would seem, with Dimitri and Byleth the only ‘survivors’ of the Blue Lions. 

“I didn’t know that was a Crest,” Byleth shook his head, trying to clear this persistent haze even as his skin began to prickle and tingle all over. 

_“Whoa, what was that?”_ the voice of the girl Sothis groaned from inside, almost making Byleth jump had he not been struggling to keep his balance. _“I feel so...dizzy.”_

“Has this happened in the past?” Hanneman was almost right in Byleth’s face as he examined the Spartan professor. “Professor? Are you feeling alright?” 

“Dizzy...warm,” Byleth jammed his hoplon and lance into the ground to support his weight. 

Something was...prickling nearby, making his skin shudder and crawl as some strange feeling began worming through his body. 

“My teacher?” Edelgard’s hand gently came to rest on his forearm, making the surge of feeling even worse. 

He could feel something emanating from her, something that made his skin prickle and hair stand on end. No, not something: _two_ somethings. Two distinct feelings of crackling energy similar to magic were emanating from Edelgard, one of which felt hot and familiar, just like what Byleth carried inside of him. 

“Professor?” the other students were starting to crowd around him, worry written across most of their faces even as more energy emanated from several. 

“How intriguing!” Hanneman declared, radiating energy of his own as he scrutinized Byleth from an uncomfortably close distance. “Using your Crest leaves you dizzy and warm, does it? I will have to see just what kind of Crest this is! To think that there were still Crests even I do not know of!” 

“Hellooooo? Is everything okay over here?” Manuela was striding towards the gathering, waving a dainty hand. “Did my class win?” 

“Unfortunately, no, Professor Casagranda,” Edelgard said, gesturing at the glowing markers she and her classmates bore. “Professor Eisner and Dimitri have soundly defeated us.” 

“Oh,” Manuela’s face fell, but she didn’t seem surprised. “Well, I guess I should surrender, then.” 

She lifted a hand to her chest and lit up the marker, then sighed as she looked around, examining the bruises on the students. 

“Professor, are you feeling alright?” Dimitri strode up to Byleth, concern etched across his face. 

The world was still a bit fuzzy and his body was too warm, but he could see and move without feeling as if he were about to collapse. The crackling energy from the other students were stronger in some, weaker in others, and some didn’t emanate any at all. What in Hades was this? 

“I will live,” he answered Dimitri, shaking his head slowly. “That thing has manifested a few times in the past, but it’s never left me feeling this...strange before.” 

“That thing is a Crest, my teacher,” Edelgard said, a curious expression on her face. “I wonder which one you have...” 

“Do you not know what Crests are, Professor Eisner?” Hanneman spoke as if that very thought were a crime against humanity. “Well, come with me after this and I will tell you all you need to know about them!” 

Another trumpet blared. 

“The winner is the Blue Lion House!” Jeralt’s voice echoed over the battlefield. 

“We won!” Dimitri grinned, but he looked around at his beaten classmates as they began to trickle back towards them. 

Felix and Ingrid were trudging forward with the Golden Deer while Annette and Mercedes emerged with Dorothea, all of them looking around in confusion. 

“Is everyone alright?” Mercedes asked. “Professor, you look a little peaked.” 

Byleth shook his head. “Let’s go. If we’re done, let’s get back to the monastery and get everyone healed up.” 

And see just what in Hades this feeling was. 


	6. The Red Canyon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I attempted to portray how I think each student would have been affected mentally by the battle in Zanado given that it was their first real brush with death and violence (save for Felix and Dimitri and maybe Sylvain?) while also branching out from the canon story more to create something different so I'm not just basically retelling the game's storyline. Also giving Sothis more of a presence because who doesn't love little gremlin goddess?  
> On another note, I am loving Cindered Shadows and the new students and my mind is buzzing with new ways I could incorporate the Ashen Wolves, even though I wasn't planning to do so initially because the DLC hadn't launched yet during my earlier planning stages.

They weren’t ready, save for maybe Dimitri and Felix. No matter how much he drilled them, how much he pushed them day after day when he wasn’t cramming lectures from the curriculum into his head or training with Podiarches and the other Spartans, these kids just weren’t ready to step foot on a real battlefield yet. At least the midday sun was pleasant and the air was warm, but this peace was always easily shattered. 

Sylvain had potential, but the fool insisted on blowing off training to find a girl to flirt with, which was annoying to no small end. Ingrid and Ashe were diligent in their training but their heads were filled with stories of valor and knightly justice, nothing that was remotely similar to the realities of war and violence. Dedue was skilled with an axe and shield, for certain, but he had a habit of throwing himself in front of Dimitri whenever the prince was in the slightest danger of being struck, thus entangling both of them and fouling whatever they were doing. 

Annette and Mercedes were doing better with their magic, but they still had much to improve on physically. Annette was pushing herself absurdly hard and somehow hadn’t fallen apart, but the girl needed to set some limits or else she would drive herself over the edge. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Byleth?” Podiarches asked in his native tongue from his side as he and the other Spartans surveyed the ruin-filled canyon for their targets. “These kids don’t exactly seem...battle-ready.” 

“I don’t know. I’m just lucky I convinced Rhea to let you come with me,” Byleth answered in the same language, not wanting his students to overhear what he was saying. “They did decently during that training match against the church soldiers last weekend, but this is no practice fight. It’s do or die out here.” 

“Professor, the bandits have been located!” Dimitri strode up to the two Spartans, his face grim. “We’ll have to cross a bridge, first, but there should be a path leading to the west that we could use to flank them.” 

Byleth nodded and switched back to the common tongue. “Very good. Get everyone here: I have a few words to say.” 

Dimitri quickly called the rest of the class over, their black and gold uniforms and the lack of protection they offered making Byleth wish he’d had time to outfit them with some form of armor. 

“We’re ready, Professor!” Ingrid declared. 

“We’ll show these brigands what the price of their crime is!” Ashe chimed in. 

“I will say this once and only once,” Byleth began after their enthusiasm had died down a bit, the kids’ faces falling at the seriousness of his tone. “This is no mock battle or a friendly poking match with the church soldiers: this is kill or be killed. I know I have put greater emphasis on training you for combat this month rather than your academic studies, but only because I want all of you to survive this conflict. If any of you feel at all that your lives are in immediate danger of being taken or that you cannot handle the battlefield, I want you to disengage and fall back to this staging area with the knights.” 

“You want us to run?” Dimitri spluttered, his eyes wide as Ingrid immediately protested. “And leave you out there, alone?” 

“Yes, I do. I can survive this dustup, but this will be your first real battle for many of you, the first time you kill another human being,” Byleth set the spiked sauroter of his dory into the ground and stared at each student, memorizing their faces yet again. “Actually ending a life is much more difficult and different than studying the best ways to slip past armor or the prime spots to sink steel into an enemy’s flesh. I’ve taught you where and how to strike as well as I can, but battles are unpredictable. If any of you fall back, I will not consider you weak or a coward, I promise you. I just want you all to live through this.” 

Ashe swallowed nervously while Annette toyed with her gold lapels, and even Ingrid looked as if she were trying to keep her composure. 

“Professor, I believe we can handle this,” Dimitri spoke up after a tense, uncomfortable silence. “Have faith in us.” 

“We shall see. Stay close to me and obey every order I give you, is that clear?” Byleth saw heads nod all around. “If we start to get surrounded, stay behind the phalanx and support our flanks until we break out.” 

At least they were getting better at holding formation and not dashing off like they had during the mock battle at the end of last month. He’d beaten some discipline into them, and had Seteth yell at him for being too rough on the students, but this hardship would forge them into better fighters. 

“It’s time,” Byleth called a command to his brothers, and the nine soldiers fell into step beside him as he headed down the staging area towards the ruins. 

“Are you certain you feel good about this?” Sothis’s voice echoed through his head, her worry plain in every word. “Taking children into battle...I trust you remember how I showed you to manipulate the hands of time?” 

“I do,” Byleth answered his inner guest by saying the words within his mind, recalling all the warped time they’d spent attempting to master the technique. 

It had been easy enough to get the hang of rewinding time, as odd as it was that he could actually do that, but he needed to restrain his tongue when he set everything back on track. He’d accidentally answered Dimitri’s questions about lancework and footwork one day before the boy had even opened his mouth to ask them, earning a rather startled and confused look from him. Byleth had hurriedly come up with an explanation in the form of seeing Dimitri reading a book on the subject before approaching him, then guessing what the questions would be. The boy had believed him, but it had still drawn a strange look from him. 

The buzzing from the students wasn’t as bad today, at least: being around them didn’t feel like he was constantly getting struck by lightning. From what he could tell, this...energy was worse with Felix, but it wasn’t as strong in the other nobles. 

Ashe and Dedue didn’t give off any energy at all, and Byleth had an inkling as to what this power was that he was feeling. 

“Their Crests,” Sothis interrupted. “You can feel the power of their Crests. Yet...why did that Edelgard girl feel so different compared to the others?” 

“We can worry about that later,” Byleth fell into line beside the Spartans, lifting his hoplon to complete the shield wall as a small group of bandits charged the formation, screaming like beasts. 

The world closed in around him until all he could feel were the soldiers at his side and the power of their armored bodies, his sight tunneling to the onrushing enemies. This was where he belonged: on the battlefield. 

“Hold steady!” Podiarches ordered and bodies tensed all around. 

“Die!” a bandit screamed, only for a Spartan spear to punch through his throat the second he was in range. 

Byleth jabbed out with his own spear, making his target jump aside only to be impaled on the spear of Timotheos as the formation held its ground. Bodies slammed heavily into the shield wall, trying to dislodge the Spartans and making Byleth’s body shake from the impact. 

After three more bodies hit the ground, filleted by spears, the two survivors backed off to survey the carnage, eyes wide with horror as they took in the unbroken yet bloody phalanx bristling before them. 

“Now!” Byleth barked at his students. 

Ashe’s bow twanged, sending an iron-tipped shaft right into the thigh of one of the brigands. The man screamed and fell to his rear, clutching at the wound while bolts of wind and light slammed into his companion and sent him spinning to the ground in a lifeless heap. 

“See, I did it!” Annette’s voice followed the attack, thick with forced enthusiasm. “I’m such a great fighter!” 

“May they find peace with the Goddess,” Mercedes whispered, her voice almost lost to the din of the wounded bandit’s agonized screaming. 

“Advance,” Byleth ordered the Spartans, who relaxed formation before marching forward. “Mind your step!” 

As they passed the howling, crying bandit, Timotheos silenced the poor bastard with his sarouter before kicking the corpse aside. Byleth looked back over the shoulders of the men behind him at his students, whose faces were grim and ashen as they took in the bodies and the blood. 

“It never gets any easier, does it?” Dimitri murmured, gripping his lance tightly enough to make the wood creak. 

They passed over the bridge to a raised portion of the ruins, where stairs to the west and north led to the bandit’s main position. Collapsed stone buildings and rubble were everywhere, the mark of some ancient civilization, perhaps, but the ruins were not what Byleth was here for. 

“Take your formation, all of you,” Byleth directed his orders to the students, this time, who hurriedly scrambled around the Spartans to obey as more bandits ran towards them. 

“Stop, you fools!” to Byleth’s surprise, the smart bandit from his first encounter with this gang was still alive and trying to halt his allies. “The Bronze Demon is here! We can’t win this! We need to flee!” 

Flee where? They were trapped, and they knew it. 

“Shut up!” the bandit leader bellowed from further back in the ruins. “You can’t be a thief if you’re afraid of death! Get up there and fight or I’ll gut you all myself!” 

Dimitri, Sylvain, and Ingrid readied their lances as the enemy approached, Dedue and Felix taking up position on their flanks as always. 

“They’re just a bunch of kids! Kill them!” a bandit lunged at the students, only for Dimitri to run him through. 

A second man swung at the prince’s head with a rust-pocked sword, only to have Dedue swat the attack aside with his axe before slamming the weapon into the bandit’s body with a sickening crunch. The struck man howled with agony and flailed out with his fist, cracking against the side of Dedue’s head. The young man grimaced, then freed his axe as another blow slammed into his nose before bringing the heavy weapon down a second time. 

The resulting squelch was followed by the thud of the mangled body hitting stone, Dedue gazing at his work while crooked nose bled into the earth in silence before turning his eyes to Dimitri. 

“Still hale and whole, I hope?” he asked his liege in a nasal voice, who nodded grimly. 

“Thank you, my friend.” 

“Let me!” Mercedes ran over to Dedue and cast a healing spell on his nose, which ceased bleeding after a moment. 

“You have my thanks,” he said, his voice back to normal. 

“Pathetic,” Felix spat as he traded blows with another bandit before cutting the woman down with a swift stroke. “These weaklings aren’t even a challenge.” 

An arrow hissed overhead, but it didn’t come from Ashe. Byleth looked north to see several bandits in grimy, tattered jerkins or leather armor pulling back on their bows, taking aim at his students. 

“Archers to the north! Shield the students!” he barked in Greek before surging forward, the Spartans quickly interposing themselves in between the kids and the arrows that could easily kill rookies and veterans alike. 

Once the clanking of metal died down, he heard an arrow bounce against a nearby hoplon with a metallic screech before spiraling harmlessly to the side. Another followed, then another, each shot skittering off of hardened bronze and iron or shattering in a flurry of splinters and sparking metal. 

“Ranged support!” Byleth barked back at his students, Annette yelping behind him as feet scuffled against stone. 

Wind and light sailed overhead as the two girls chanted, light flaring with each shot as the magical projectiles slammed into bodies. Clothes and armor were shredded as those struck were thrown to the ground, some screaming while others dropped in silence where they stood, their blood flashing crimson in the sunlight. 

“Don’t hate me, please,” Sylvain’s thick voice made Byleth glance over to see the boy pulling his bloody lance from the corpse of a thief, pain flaring in his eyes. 

“Come on! Focus! We need to prepare for the next battle!” Ingrid ducked beneath a clumsy sword swing before jamming her lance into her attacker’s chest with enough force to push the iron head completely through his body. “I will become the greatest knight of-” 

She gasped as the dead weight slumped against her, smearing her face and clothes with blood as she desperately heaved against the corpse to free herself and her weapon. “G-get off!” 

Ashe fired another arrow from behind the group, the shaft punching a bandit in the chest and smacking him against the ground. 

“T-that could have been me,” the boy whispered, his eyes wide and freckled face pale as he took in the growing number of bandit corpses watering the stones with their blood. “This is...” 

He dropped his bow and doubled over, emptying the contents of his stomach with a wretched gagging sound. The stench wasn’t much better, but Byleth had smelled far worse. 

“Should we stop him from killing that man?” Sothis asked, pity and concern in her voice. 

Byleth shook his head. “He has to learn eventually, as cruel as it sounds.” 

The girl huffed. “Cruel, indeed...they are only children!” 

The bandits stopped attacking, the few survivors regrouping on the other side of the ruins while their greasy leader continued screaming at them. 

“They’re just a bunch of brats, damn you! The knights underestimated us by sending them!” 

“Boss, the Bronze Demon is here with the rest of his buddies!” the smart bandit had avoided conflict again, it would seem, the man actually on his knees begging before his boss. “We need to flee or surrender! We can’t win this!” 

“Worthless coward!” the bandit leader hefted his axe and then brought it viciously down on his subordinate’s neck, hacking once, twice, then kicking the corpse away as its head swung limply from what was left of its neck. “Kill those gods-damned brats, now!” 

Mercedes was kneeling next to Ashe as the poor boy dry-heaved from on his hands and knees, her voice cooing softly through his wretched groans while her hands rubbed gentle circles on his back. 

“That’s it, Ashe,” she murmured. “Just let it out.” 

Byleth strode over to the boy and crouched beside him. “Are you alright? Do you want to fall back?” 

He gagged and tried to struggle to his feet. “I...I can...I can do it. I can...be a knight!” 

“Professor, they’re coming up to the western side!” Dimitri called, drawing his attention back to the other students. 

“We’ll hold this side to keep them from escaping,” Podiarches said as the Spartan phalanx filled in the space at their end of the bridge. “Do your thing, Professor.” 

“Mercedes, keep an eye on Ashe,” Byleth said to the girl, who nodded. “We’ll call if we need you.” 

“Yes, Professor,” she put her hands on Ashe’s shoulders in a gentle, supporting manner when the boy tried to stand again. 

Byleth moved to join his students, who were watching as the remaining half a dozen bandits were charging towards the bridge with the energy of desperate men, screaming wordless battle cries. 

“Lances at the front, with me,” Byleth placed himself in the middle of the bridge’s base, making himself a bronze boulder that would be nigh impossible to dislodge, as per the training he’d endured for over a decade and a half. 

Sylvain and Dimitri stood at his flanks, their faces ashen and grim as they held out bloody lances. Behind them, Ingrid’s cry of exertion and triumph signaled her finally extricating herself from the corpse that had nearly knocked her over, and her hurried footsteps clacked against stone behind them. 

“Steady,” Byleth said to the kids behind him as the bandits began piling up the steps, still screaming every step of the way. 

He could almost smell their fear and desperation, could see it in their wild eyes. Those who had nothing left to lose were dangerous opponents. 

“Change of plans,” Byleth said, almost feeling the confused looks from the kids. “Follow me.” 

“Professor?” Dimitri asked. 

Byleth lifted his shield partially so it was positioned right in front of his body, and then he stomped forward. The bandits balked, clearly not expecting a bronze battering ram to be plowing down the steps towards them, and Byleth slammed into the first bandit with enough force to make his body tremble from the impact. 

His victim stumbled and then pitched over the edge of the bridge, screaming. Byleth steamed forward and plowed through the rest of the bodies, knocking them down left and right with the sheer size and weight of his hoplon. 

He hit bottom and spun, slamming the broad, heavy face of his shield against the last bandit with enough force to throw him against one of the ruined piles of rubble. Gravel and stone crunch and skittered against the ground as the bandit’s dirt-covered body hit hard and rolled before coming to a stop face-down. 

Byleth looked up at the battered bodies he’d left on the stairway, surprised to see Dimitri and Sylvain putting each brigand out of their misery with a thrust of their lances. 

“Damn you...brats,” one bandit tried to push himself up on the side of the bridge, but Felix strode down and kicked him over the edge. 

“We brats just put you filth in your place,” the angry nobleman spat before striding down towards Byleth as the rest of the class trudged in his wake, some clearly handling this violence much better than the others. 

“Just kill me, please,” the bandit Byleth had knocked down was groaning as he clutched at his bleeding head. “I’m so tired of Kostas and his bull. I knew he would get us all killed, taking that contact from that Flame Emperor freak.” 

Flame Emperor? 

Byleth knelt. “Tell me what the contract was and I will grant you a swift death.” 

“Much obliged,” the man groaned. “We were supposed to attack the...the noble brats at their camp and kill them all. Main targets were the prince and some hotshot from the Alliance.” 

“Was Edelgard one of your targets?” Dimitri asked, crouching by the dying man. 

“That Imperial girl? We ran into her when we pursued you, and Kostas figured she was one of the targets,” the bandit trembled in a violent convulsion. “Didn’t think she was until we realized she was the Empire’s heiress. If you and the other kid were to be killed, made sense that she was, too.” 

“So, Edelgard wasn’t one of your original targets, but Claude and I were,” Dimitri frowned. 

“You did your part,” Byleth said to the dying man, lifting his sauroter and plunging it into the bandit’s throat. 

He freed his weapon from the corpse and strode towards where Kostas was trying to hide in the rubble, the bandit leader’s voice filling the ruins as he continued to panic. 

“Damn it, damn it, damn it!” he swore a string of expletives with every piece of rubble that he flung aside in his desperate search for an escape. “I am not dying to these brats!” 

Byleth glanced to the east and saw the Spartans marching down the other bridge, watching for any surprise attacks from the brigands. 

Annette screamed from behind and his body spun on its own to see one of the ‘dead’ bandits leaping at her, sword in hand. 

“Annette!” Byleth, Dimitri and Dedue sprinted towards her as she stumbled back away from her attacker. 

She tried to blast him with magic, but the moment she lifted her arm, the bandit’s blade cruelly slashed into her flesh, jarring as it hit bone. The girl screamed again, sobbing as her blood ran down the now-ripped sleeve. 

“If I’m dyin’, I’m takin’ one of you with me!” the bandit loomed over her, sword raised to kill, and then an arrow sprouted from his neck. 

Byleth ignored the corpse and rushed towards his student as the girl fell to her knees, gasping and sobbing while she clutched her bleeding arm. He slid to his knees at her side, setting aside his gear and calling upon Argo’s training while ignoring the stones digging into his flesh. 

“I’m sorry!” the girl was struggling to compose herself even as blood gushed from between the fingers clutching her arm and painted the ancient stones. “I...I...” 

“It’s okay: I thought he was dead, too, so that was my fault,” Byleth willed the magic to expand and sent gentle light into his student’s wound. “Just stay still, this is a deep cut.” 

“Nice shot, Ashe!” Dimitri called from behind, but Byleth ignored him and focused on the steadily closing gash. 

“Annie!” Mercedes was sprinting towards them, her eyes wide with horror as she began chanting to use her own white magic. 

“How is it feeling?” Byleth asked once the skin had knitted itself back together, leaving behind the cut sleeve and still-wet blood. 

Annette carefully moved the arm, swallowing and making quite a herculean effort to get her breathing under control. “M-much b-b-better, Professor. T-thank you...I’m s-sorry!” 

“Take it easy,” Byleth tried to keep his tone gentle as he looked over Annette again, finding no other injuries. “You’ve done well today, so rest and let that recover.” 

“We’ll keep an eye on her, Professor,” Ashe and Ingrid joined the group, worry plain on their faces. “You can go deal with their leader.” 

“Gladly,” Byleth rose, taking his heavy equipment into his callused hands once more before rising. “Keep an eye on each other.” 

“Let us go with you,” Dimitri and Dedue stepped forward, rage simmering in the prince’s blue eyes. 

“Stay close,” Byleth strode towards the bandit trying to shove himself into a crack in a ruined wall, the two young men falling into step beside him. 

Stone crunched beneath their feet, making Kostas’s head snap towards them as another stream of expletives spewed from his mouth. 

“Stay back, damn you!” the bandit reached down and grabbed something from the ground before hurling it. 

The chunk of stone missed Byleth by about five feet, clattering noisily to the ground. 

“Really? Throwing stones?” Dimitri growled while Dedue moved closer to his liege. 

Kostas ignored him and then stooped to grab another before hurling it. 

A strange pulse of energy made Byleth pause, his head swiveling to locate the source when a heavy impact shook his helmet and rattled his vision. 

“Ha! Eat that, Bronze Demon!” Kostas shouted. 

Byleth reared back and reversed his grip on his dory before hurling it full-force at the thug, who screamed as steel and wood slammed into him. Byleth was about to move forward to finish the job when another pulse of power made him look down at the chunk of stone that had bounced off his helmet. 

“I feel it, too!” Sothis spoke from within. “Whatever could that be?” 

“Let’s find out,” Byleth crouched and wrapped his fingers around the stone, warmth and crackling energy immediately flooding his hand. 

“Oh! What is this rock?” Sothis yelped while Byleth rose and turned the stone over, a symbol that he swore he’d seen before glowing red on its surface. 

“This looks familiar...wait a minute,” Byleth looked up to see Sothis hovering just over his head, curiosity in her gaze as she stared at the stone. “Isn’t this symbol on your dress?” 

“My dress?” Sothis directed her now-confused gaze to him, but separated her arms to leave the front of her blue dress uncovered to reveal that the symbol on the stone was indeed woven onto the unusual scarf-like fabric hanging from around her neck. “This? Oh! They are the same!” 

Not to mention that some of those lines looked even more familiar, as if he’d just seen them before leaving the monastery. 

“How did Hanneman say to conjure up my Crest, again?” Byleth mused, trying to recall the older professor’s words. 

“Reach into your power and will it to manifest, of course!” Sothis huffed. “Focus on the palm of your hand when doing so!” 

Byleth delved into the power that was warming his veins, found it waiting and willing for his commands as he willed it into his hand. In a burst of light, the lines of his Crest emerged above his flesh, and Sothis lowered herself so the symbol it was next to the image. 

The lines of his Crest matched the lower left of the symbol depicted, and the stone glowed even brighter from next to Sothis’s accessory. 

“Whoa, Professor, what is that?” Dimitri and some of the others were striding towards him, eyes wide with wonder as they took in the bright glow of his expanding Crest. 

“My Crest, apparently,” Byleth watched as those lines grew into an exact replica of the emblem both Sothis and this stone bore. “Looks like Hanneman’s device couldn’t project the whole image.” 

“I’ve never seen that Crest before!” Dimitri was staring at the projected image. “We should ask Professor Hanneman if he knows anything about it.” 

“Indeed,” Byleth looked over at where Kostas had been hiding to see the bandit slumped on the ground, his guts spilling out onto the stones. “Good work with that.” 

“Professor,” Dedue was holding out Byleth’s spear. 

As the light from his Crest faded, Byleth transferred the stone to the satchel hanging from his waist and then retrieved his weapon before turning back to Annette, who was pale and shaking but otherwise unharmed. “Annette, how are you feeling?” 

“I’m okay!” she answered immediately, moving the arm in question despite how she hesitated at the gesture. “It’s stiff and a little sore, but you fixed me right up.” 

“Argo says I have an unusual affinity for White magic, but that attack hit your arm bone, so we’ll need to keep an eye on it. I’ll have Manuela look at it when we get back,” Byleth took a look over the rest of his students, a weight lifting from his chest at seeing them all mostly unharmed. 

Dedue’s nose was a bit crooked and Ingrid was covered in blood from where that bandit corpse had fallen on her, but the others only bore minor scratches and bruises. 

“You’ve trained them well so far!” Sothis declared from within, a proud warmth smoldering through Byleth’s veins. “And we shall both continue to look out for them, shall we not?” 

“Yes,” Byleth agreed silently as Podiarches and the other Spartans clanked up to the Blue Lions, bronze armor gleaming. 

“Not bad for a bunch of untested kids,” the grizzled warrior mused as he looked at the students. “Byleth might be able to make proper soldiers out of you yet.” 

“I make no promises,” Byleth drawled, his gaze roaming over the kids. “But I am proud of them for pushing through this challenge.” 

Many of them beamed at his praise, but the real challenge would be how they adapted to the true horror of battle. They would bear these scars for the rest of their lives, and this would forever mark a change in each of them. 

But for now, they would return to Garreg Mach to rest and recover. 

“And yet, why do I feel as if Rhea sent us here for more than the bandits?” Sothis murmured. “And why did our Crest appear here, of all places?” 

Too many questions, not enough answers. 

“I don’t know, Sothis, but there’s not much more we can do at the moment.” 

“I agree: let us return and see what else can be done!” 

Byleth nodded and strode towards his waiting students and fellow Spartans, his mind going ahead to the future. 

Now, the real training would begin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP smart bandit, you will not be missed.


	7. Girl From Abyss

Byleth kept a close eye on his students as they marched back to Garreg Mach, surrounded by a protective cordon of Spartan shields and spears. Most were silent, digesting the realities of battle and wrestling with their feelings on the matter, whereas Dimitri and Dedue were asking Byleth about future lesson plans and what would need to be done upon their return to the monastery. 

“Podiarches, when we get back, I want to talk to you about having the other brothers assist in these kids’ training,” Byleth reverted to Greek as he hailed his longtime mentor, who grinned wickedly in response. 

“Oh, I’m sure they’d enjoy the chance to beat some knowledge into the students!” the old soldier laughed, drawing a fearful look from the students. 

“Um, Professor, should we be worried?” Ashe asked in a hesitant voice. 

“Yes,” Byleth answered. 

Even Ingrid looked nervous now. 

“Must you be so hard on your little flock?” Sothis asked from within. 

“Yes. If they are to be strong, then they must earn their strength through struggle and hardship,” he answered. “As I and the Spartans did.” 

“But they are not Spartans,” the not-girl pointed out. 

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I am going to go easy on them,” Byleth glanced around at his class again, studying Annette as she again winced while moving her previously injured arm. 

He would definitely need to have Manuela have a look at the girl. 

“Annette, how are you feeling?” he asked, knowing full well that she was going to grin and bear it as she had throughout the march. 

“I’m fine!” she answered immediately, forcing a smile to her lips. 

He could see in her face how uncomfortable and pained she was, but the stubbornness and determination to make something of herself was even more obvious. One didn’t get far as a mercenary or a Spartan without being able to read people, a skill that Byleth was finding especially useful here in the academy. 

They marched on in silence until the steeples of Garreg Mach came back into view, and Byleth turned his head to address them as the gates of the town drew closer. 

“You did well on that mission. Rest up and eat and be ready for class on Monday,” he said. 

“Thank you, Professor!” Sylvain grinned. “This gives me some time to find a nice girl to go on a date with.” 

“Meanwhile, I will have to be the one to deal with the aftermath of your philandering,” Ingrid griped, at which Sylvain laughed. 

“Oh please, you know you enjoy it!” 

“No, I really don’t.” 

Byleth tuned out their bickering and lifted his spear in greeting as the soldiers guarding the town gates pushed the massive doors apart. 

“Good hunting, Professor?” one of the soldiers called. 

“The bandits are dead and my students are safe, so I would say it was,” Byleth nodded, leading his students through the town and to the massive portcullis that served as the monastery gate. 

“Welcome back, Professor,” one of the Knights of Seiros on guard said. “Lady Rhea is waiting for you to report to her.” 

“Very well. I’ll head to her immediately,” Byleth strode towards the large entrance hall, Dimitri and a few others following him while the Spartans headed towards the barracks. 

Edelgard and Manuela were standing in the hall, pausing in their conversation to turn to Byleth. 

“Oh, Professor, you’re back!” Edelgard smiled at him, glancing at Dimitri. “I take it your mission was a success?” 

“It was,” Byleth nodded. “Are you heading out on a mission of your own?” 

“We are. Hopefully we won’t take long,” Edelgard nodded. 

“Before you go: Manuela, could I trouble you to look at Annette’s right arm? She took a rather serious injury from a sword and is trying to hide how much it’s bothering her,” Byleth gestured at the girl behind him, who immediately squeaked a protest. “I healed her as well as I could, but I would feel better if a professional looked at her.” 

Manuela nodded, concern etching her face as she hurried over to Annette. “That is quite an injury, Annette.” She lifted the girl’s arm up and pushed the cut sleeve away, scrutinizing the flesh beneath as she pushed pulses of white magic into it. “Your Professor did quite a job closing the wound and regenerating the skin, but there will be some soreness and stiffness from the muscles as they recover.” 

A weight lifted from Byleth’s shoulders: so it was just muscle soreness. 

“Thank you, Manuela,” he bowed his head to her, and she winked at him in response. “Stay safe on your mission.” 

“I will be fine, Dimitri,” Edelgard said from behind. “I can handle myself.” 

They had apparently been talking while Byleth had Annette looked over. 

Edelgard strode past Byleth, nodding to him as she did. “It’s good to see you back here safe and sound, Professor.” 

“Good luck to you, Edelgard,” Byleth returned the gesture, watching as the house leader and her professor hurried towards the gates. “Get some rest, all of you.” 

“Yes, Professor!” the students went on their own ways, leaving him alone to head up the stairs towards the main hall. 

Monks, pilgrims, and random devotees of the church were walking back and forth alongside the students and white-armored knights and soldiers, conversations filling the cooling air as dusk approached. They gave Byleth a wide berth, perhaps because of the spear he was still carrying, but a fully armored Spartan was a sight to behold. Someone was shouting from somewhere else in the monastery, maybe the dining hall, but he ignored it. 

He passed through the short courtyard and entered the great hall, hearing more shouting coming from the direction of the Officers Academy this time. It was getting closer, but he continued to ignore it as he strode through the student-filled aisles. 

Byleth almost made it to the end of the hall when a grey and red blur sprinted past him with blinding speed, making him pause as flurries of clanking footsteps pounded down the hall to his left. 

“After her!” 

“Don’t let her get away!” 

At least half a dozen Knights of Seiros steamed after the blur, which was apparently a female, shouting. 

Students rose from their tables, murmuring in confusion and concern as they looked at Byleth for assurance. 

“Stay here: I’ll look into it,” he told them, then jogged after the shouting knights. 

He ran out into the courtyard situated outside of the knight training grounds, then saw the knights hurrying into the cemetery resting below it. 

“We have you now, Abyss rat!” one knight snarled as Byleth and several others strode up to the bannister to look down at the scene. 

Six knights were covering both stairways leading down to the cemetery, lances and swords drawn as they slowly closed in on their prey. It was a girl, wearing what looked like a grey version of the student uniform jacket and skirt that left her midriff bare. A deep purple legging peeked out from her left leg’s tall boot, matching the shirt that he could see her wearing beneath the jacket. 

Her wild mane of bright red hair shifted as eyes of the same hue darted back and forth at the soldiers closing in on her while sweat made her brown skin slick and shiny. 

“Why are you chasing me? Just leave me alone!” she snapped at the soldiers, backing into a gravestone. 

She was getting close to the edge of the cemetery walls, where only drop into oblivion met any foolish enough to go over the bannisters. 

“It’s one of them!” a monk seethed from Byleth’s side. “A filthy heathen from Abyss!” 

Abyss? What in Hades was Abyss? And why was an unarmed girl so dangerous? 

“You made a big mistake leaving your hole, Abyssian,” a knight sneered. “And trying to steal from the Church? Do you have a death wish, filth?” 

The girl’s eyes hardened with rage. “I’m filth for trying to get some food? You knights threw me in Abyss to begin with, and people are starving down there! I am starving!” 

Byleth took a closer look at the girl and realized that she was very thin, almost emaciated, with weary and sunken eyes. His fingers tightened around his shield and spear as a hot surge pulsed through the back of his head. 

What the hell were the knights doing to those Abyssian people? To this girl who just wanted some food? 

“It’s a shame we have to kill you,” one of the other knights menacing the girl lamented. “You’re quite good-looking for an Abyssian.” 

The girl stiffened, disgust in her eyes as she glared at the speaker. “Stay back or I will sigh. I mean it!” 

The knights faltered, and even the monk at Byleth’s side swore. 

“By the Goddess, it’s her! The rat who can summon monsters by sighing!” 

Byleth glanced at the speaker. “She summons monsters by sighing?” 

The monk nodded vigorously. “She was put in Abyss because she was too dangerous to let roam around the surface. I don’t know why we’re letting her live.” 

The girl backed further away from the spear heads and her back hit the bannister keeping her from pitching over the sheer cliff face into the void. The knights drew closer, and she moved as far away as the bannister could allow, eyes darting from her attackers to the people watching her predicament. 

He couldn’t just allow this: she was an unarmed girl against six elite Knights of Seiros. Only a coward would walk away from someone in need. He couldn’t kill them, but perhaps he could buy time, scare them. 

“Damn it...” she inhaled deeply, perhaps getting ready to sigh, and Byleth’s body moved on its own. 

He hurled his spear at the knight getting closer to the girl and jumped as quickly as he could while the shaft bit into the earth inches in front of his target, his body jarring at the impact as his legs propelled him over the wall and to the soft ground beneath, right next a headstone. 

“What in the Goddess’s name?!” the knight that Byleth’s spear had landed in front of jumped backwards, his fellows whirling to face this new threat. 

Byleth strode past them, his fingers closing around the rough grip of his spear and pulling it from the earth before taking a defensive stance between them and the girl. He glared at the white-clad figures currently staring in bewilderment at him, helmet-covered faces looking at one another as their spears faltered. 

“Stay back, girl,” he said to the Abyssian. “I don’t want to accidentally stick you with the sauroter.” 

“The what?” she asked. 

“The spike on the back of the spear,” Byleth kept his hoplon raised to keep a wall of hardened bronze between the girl and the knights, glancing up to make sure that nobody from the upper level was about to shoot her. 

“Oh, that spike.” 

“What in the Goddess’s name are you doing, Spartan?” the knights, to their credit, quickly composed themselves and closed formation, lances bristling. 

“Six fully armed knights against one unarmed girl is hardly a fair fight,” Byleth answered, menacing his opponents with the leaf-shaped head of his own spear. 

“Why are you helping me?” the girl asked, voice laced with suspicion. 

“Because I want to, and I’ll not allow a group of knights to bully an unarmed girl,” Byleth replied, menacing the knights. 

They could fight or run, but the yelling from the onlookers made him confident that they would do the former rather than the latter. 

“That’s...pretty nice of you,” the girl murmured. “That is, if you’re not pretending to help me just to stick me, yourself.” 

Byleth feinted a jab at a knight who’d drawn too close, making the man leap back while his fellows probed his defenses. Their lances skittered against his shield’s thick surface, but no real damage was done as he drove them back with a wide sweep of his own spear. He almost hit a headstone doing that, but he quickly recovered and retook his stance, keeping himself between the girl and as much of the danger as he could. 

“Do you have a death wish, savage?” one knight spat. “Defying the holy Knights of Seiros just for one Abyss rat?” 

They were spreading out as far as the narrow confines of the cemetery allowed, but their lances were awkward to move around the numerous headstones and the wall of bronze was blunting their every attempt to strike. Byleth’s spear wasn’t much better. 

“Hey, shoot her!” a commotion from above drew Byleth’s attention, and he all but backpedaled to the girl as three archers in white and red jerkins took aim at her. 

“Get down!” he ordered, raising his shield to cover both of them as bows thrummed loudly. 

Three impacts slammed into the hoplon and stuck, and Byleth heard the other knights approaching as more and more spectators crowded on the upper level and shouted. He saw one knight trying to get around his defense and thrust out at the white figure, his spear deflecting off the woman’s gauntlet and throwing sparks as she lifted her arms to defend herself. 

“I’m going to die here, aren’t I?” the Abyssian murmured. “Thanks for trying to help me, Shiny.” 

Then she sighed, and everyone froze. 

“Oops,” was all the girl said before an earsplitting shriek shook the monastery to its very core. 

“Giant bird!” someone screamed. 

Byleth looked over the wall to see that a massive vulture-like bird monster was indeed streaking towards the monastery, its beady eyes fixed on the girl behind him as it opened a wide beak and split the air with another primal scream. 

“Shoot it! Shoot it!” a knight ordered and the archers took aim. 

Their bows thrummed and sent steel-tipped shafts streaking towards the monster, but it beat its massive wings and rose higher into the air, making their shots sail wide. 

“One of you shoot directly at it to make it ascend while the others aim high!” Byleth yelled at the archers, then crouched to shield himself and the Abyssian girl from the beast. 

He’d fought these creatures before and had learned very quickly that they tended to rise to avoid arrow fire, which left their torsos vulnerable to retaliation. 

Two bows thrummed in quick succession, and the giant bird did indeed rise to evade the attacks, only for the third archer to put a shaft right into the beast’s throat. Not quite what Byleth had planned, but it worked, he supposed. 

“Yeah!” someone shouted as the monster screamed and slammed into the side of the cliff with a disgusting crunch, its head peeking over the bannister while its jagged beak snapped at Byleth and the Abyssian girl. 

The stench emanating from the slimy cavern of the beast’s maw made Byleth wrinkle his nose as he strode towards the creature, spear in hand. It croaked, releasing a horrid miasma from its pierced throat. Its beady eyes remained locked on the girl despite the death approaching it, a weak caw rattling from its pierced throat. 

Byleth reared back and rammed his spear into its eye, the strength with which it balked from the sudden agony nearly ripping his arm from its socket. He let go of the spear as the monster screamed, kicked off of the cliff, and sent the weapon flying, its powerful wings pounding the air and snapping blades of wind in every direction. 

“Get down, get down!” 

“Don’t just stand there! Shoot the damn thing again!” 

“Get these people out of here!” 

Byleth dug in his heels as well as he could as waves of pure power slammed into him, the surprised yell from the Abyssian girl snapping his attention to where she was trying to pick herself off of the ground. And where a knight was stalking towards her, sword in hand. 

“Look out!” Byleth steamed towards the girl, easing his heavy kopis from its scabbard and calculating the distance between him and his foe. 

The girl’s head swiveled to him and her red eyes widened. “Shiny! Get down!” 

“Huh?” even the knight paused, voice rising into a panicked yelp as he then dove for cover. 

Wind slammed into Byleth’s back, needles of hot pain erupting from his nerves while he stumbled and tried to catch his balance again. The beast screamed behind him and Byleth’s instincts spun him around just in time for jagged claws to rake against the hard surface of his shield, gouging deep furrows into its surface, shredding the arrow shafts protruding from it and making his arm tremble. 

“Get away from him!” a bolt of purple-black energy shot into the sky, narrowly missing the beast as it circled around and dove towards its prey despite the arrows streaking by it. 

The girl knew magic, and dark magic at that. Interesting. 

Byleth backed closer to the girl, glancing over his shoulder to make sure nobody else was making a run at her before turning his attention back to the steadily approaching bird. Gore was leaking from its ruined eye socket, and its remaining eye was smoldering with rage as it shattered the air with another scream. 

Closer...just a little closer... 

It streaked forward, its talons outstretched as its gaze remained locked on the girl standing behind Byleth, opening its beak to deafen him with yet another blasted scream. The damn thing’s shrill voice was making his ears ring. 

“Get down!” he barked at the girl and hurled himself to the side just moments before those talons shredded him, lashing out with his kopis as he did. 

His arm jarred as the razor-sharp blade sank into flesh, drawing another pained scream from the beast as it haphazardly flapped away from the monastery. He hit the ground and rolled, his armor clanking against stone and digging painfully into his body as he came up standing and moved back to the Abyssian. 

“Didja get it?” she spit out some grass and pushed herself to stand, her jacket stained with green smears. 

Byleth looked back at the beast as it faltered in its flight before plummeting into the void. He slipped his kopis back into its scabbard and held the now-freed hand out to the girl, who readily took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. 

“I did. Nice shot, by the way,” Byleth looked up to see more knights flooding towards the cemetery, led by a very familiar voice shouting orders. 

“Send some aerial knights to ensure that beast is dead!” Seteth was barking. “And find out how it got so far into the monastery’s airspace to begin with!” 

“This isn’t going to end well,” the girl muttered behind Byleth. “The knights are probably going to execute both of us for this, Shiny.” 

“I will not allow them to harm you,” he raised an eyebrow at the nickname. “Why are you calling me Shiny?” 

She poked his bronze breastplate. “Your armor: it’s shiny and looks heavy.” 

“It is heavy. Get behind me, Red,” Byleth crouched and retrieved his fluid-caked spear before taking a defensive stance between her and the onrushing score of knights. 

“Red? That’s original,” the girl muttered but obeyed, her hands pressing against his back as she took cover behind him. 

“You!” Seteth appeared atop the steps, fury blazing in his eyes as he looked not at Byleth but the girl using him as a meat shield. “What are you doing out of Abyss?!” 

“I was starving, jerk!” the girl shouted back, making a vein pulse on Seteth’s forehead. “I just wanted some food for myself and some of the kids!” 

Kids? There were kids in this Abyss place? What in the actual hells? 

“That explains the monster,” Seteth muttered, shaking his head. 

“Back off, all of you,” Byleth warned the encroaching knights, visualizing the most efficient way to incapacitate each one without killing them. “Or I will beat you senseless.” 

“Stop!” Seteth ordered, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he leaned on the bannister while massaging his temples. “L-let them come up. Don’t hurt the girl: we’ll let Lady Rhea decide her fate.” 

“Can I please not see her?” the girl muttered. “Please? She is the absolute last person I ever want to talk to.” Then she paused. “Okay, maybe second absolute last.” 

“Not like we have a choice,” Byleth muttered. “I will make sure no harm comes to you.” 

“I’m trusting you, Shiny,” she muttered. 

“Thanks, Red,” he led them forward, shooting a warning glare at every knight in the vicinity as he and the girl he now called Red made their way up the stairs to Seteth. 

“Huh, that might actually grow on me,” she murmured. “Maybe.” 

Byleth felt her hands gripping the left side of his armor, where the front and back of the cuirass were tied together, and he turned his body to better cover her with his beaten shield. 

Seteth was glaring bloody murder at him with each step, the knights at his side standing ready to unleash their weapons at a moment’s notice. Byleth stopped before him, ignoring the stares and disgusted murmuring of the onlookers in order to focus on keeping his companion shielded. 

“You will answer for this, do you understand me?” Seteth snarled at Byleth. 

“Answer for what, Seteth?” Rhea’s sharp voice silenced everyone, heads turning to where the graceful figure of the Archbishop was emerging from the reception hall, flanked by guards. 

“Lady Rhea!” onlookers and knights, alike, bowed to her or clasped their hands in prayer, but Byleth felt the girl’s hands tighten their grip on his armor. 

Rhea ignored them and kept her gaze fixed on Seteth. “I’ve heard reports of a monster attacking the monastery. What is happening?” 

“We have an intruder from Abyss who was caught stealing from the kitchens: the one that can summon monsters with her sighs,” Seteth answered, shooting Byleth a glare. “The knights chased her to the cemetery after she fled, where she summoned a giant bird.” 

“And you defended her, I take it?” Rhea asked Byleth, who nodded while still closely monitoring the crowd. “Why are you here, young one?” 

“Because a lot of people in Abyss are starving and I thought I’d grab some food from your kitchens for them,” Red answered, the bitterness in her voice making several knights partially draw their weapons. “Not like you care, anyway: you’d probably prefer it if we all dropped dead.” 

“You insolent swine!” steel rang against leather as one knight drew his sword and lunged at the Abyssian, 

Byleth’s body erupted into movement, muscles snapping taut into movements pounded into him and perfected for over a decade as he slashed his spear across the knight’s sword-bearing hand and then slammed a foot into his chest. The man swore and stumbled back, only just retaining his balance, and his companions started to surge forward. 

“Enough!” Rhea’s command froze them in place, her face hard and stern as she turned her bright green eyes to Byleth. “I do not blame you for defending her: I am certain you just saw an unarmed girl being chased by the knights and thought it unjust to leave her.” 

“Six elite knights against one girl is hardly fair, even if her sighs do conjure beasts,” Byleth said, menacing his would-be attackers with his spear even as its head sprayed what fluid was left on it from the giant bird’s eye. “And if she just wanted some food, what is the harm in giving her some? Surely we have plenty to spare, even for a few Abyssian children.” 

Rhea’s stare hardened, but there was something else in her eyes that Byleth couldn’t read as she bowed her head in acceptance and defeat. 

“Very well. Because you had good intentions and did not know just what you were aiding, I will allow this just this once,” the archbishop declared, and a few of the onlookers gasped. 

“She’s showing mercy to those rats?” 

“We should just purge that filthy hole!” 

Rhea silenced them with a raised hand, her gaze never once leaving Byleth. “You may take your...charge to gather some food in the dining hall, but you will report to me on the third floor immediately after.” 

“As you wish, Lady Rhea,” Byleth bowed his head, ignoring the glares he could feel burning into him from the knights and the other Church of Seiros faithful. “Come on, Red.” 

“Right behind you,” she replied, and Byleth frowned at the wording as an idea struck him. 

“Actually, why don’t you walk in front of me?” he turned to face her and found her weary red eyes staring at him. “It would be easier to shield you if I can see you.” 

Red nodded grimly, absently reaching down to smooth her grass and mud-stained skirt. “You’re the boss, Shiny. Just don’t accidentally stick me with that spear of yours, huh?” 

She hurried perhaps a couple inches in front of him, staying well behind the cover provided by his wide hoplon as strands of her unkempt mane of hair brushed against his breastplate. 

“Are you certain we should allow this?” Byleth heard Seteth mutter as he and Red began their trek to the kitchen. “If one of them gets the idea to hang around him for safety, then who’s to say the others won’t try to take advantage of it?” 

“They won’t,” Rhea answered, the finality in her voice making Byleth’s instincts set off warnings. “If they try, they will be punished. We will not have them sullying the sanctity of this holy place.” 

“A-as you say, Lady Rhea. I must say I am glad that we were able to resolve this without further bloodshed: I do not think our knights would have been able to bring him down easily,” Seteth sighed, then added in a voice soft enough to almost be lost to the wind. “Or at all...” 

Byleth spent the trek ignoring the confused questions and strange looks the students and others were giving him, shooting a glare at any knight or Church soldier who stiffened at the sight of Red and made to advance towards them. 

“So, where did you learn to fight like that?” Red spoke as they passed through the academy, where Byleth glared so hard at a soldier the poor man tripped over a bush when he tried to back away. “I’ve never seen that before.” 

Some students ran to his aid, but the rest stayed far back and kept to themselves, chattering in low, nervous tones. 

“I was trained by foreign soldiers who joined my father’s mercenary company,” Byleth answered, noting that there was another man watching the duo who didn’t flinch as Byleth met his gaze. 

The old man merely smiled and nodded, his robes swaying at the movement. Tomas, the librarian: Byleth had utilized his aid in finding books to keep himself appraised of his lecture materials for the week. 

“Foreign soldiers, huh?” Red inhaled deeply as delectable smells wafted from the open doors of the dining hall. “Damn, that smells heavenly.” 

“How much food do you think you need?” Byleth asked as the duo strode into the filled hall, drawing the attention of almost everyone inside. 

“There she is!” one of the cooks yelled from behind the serving counter, waving a wooden spoon with the ferocity of a knight waving a blade. “The little rat what tried to steal my hard work!” 

“Rat?” Dimitri and Dedue were sitting nearby, making to rise when Byleth shook his head. 

“Bring her up here! Let me at her!” the cook yelled, waving her spoon again and splattering her apron with brown sauce. 

“She really does not like me, huh,” Red muttered. “All that just for some food.” 

Thick, heavy silence filled the air as Byleth and Red strode forward, dozens of pairs of eyes following their every move. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen that girl around before,” someone murmured. 

“What uniform is that? It doesn’t look like one of ours.” 

“Is he guarding her or protecting her?” 

“Oh ho, I’ve been waiting for this!” the cook gloated, waving her spoon in Red’s face. “A little Abyss rat sneaking into the monastery and trying to steal my work? I think not!” 

She swung the spoon right as Byleth blocked its path with his spear, wood clacking against wood as her startled eyes jerked up to him. 

“She can have some food for herself and some others,” he said in the sternest voice he could muster, making sure he appeared menacing as he glared at the woman through the visor of his helmet. “Archbishop’s orders.” 

The cook shrank back, her eyes wide with fear as she pulled her makeshift weapon away from Red’s face. “I...uh...yes, sir!” 

She frantically waved her spoon-less hand at a cluster of food-laden plates resting off to where the students would line up to collect their portions. “P-please! Help yourself!” 

Red turned back and grinned at Byleth, grudging respect shining in her eyes as she stared into his visor. “I would not want to make you angry, Shiny. Thanks for, well, everything. I hope I’ll see you around!” 

With that, she turned to the food and began shoveling as much as she could onto a few platters, stacking a few on top of each other before piling them into her arms and starting to sprint towards the door. 

“Hey! Wait!” Byleth tried to stop her, to offer some help, and she paused. 

Then she reached out and snatched a bag of sweets before tossing it into her teeth and then turning her head and giving him a playful grin. 

“Thee yew, Thiny!” she dashed away, dropping a few pieces of grilled meat and several chunks of bread as she hobbled away with deceptive speed despite the plates haphazardly laden in her arms. 

“Good grief,” Byleth muttered. “She’s probably going to drop more food than she’ll take.” 

And she apparently had quite a sweet tooth, like Annette and Lysithea. 

The cook groaned in despair. “It took me so long to make those buns.” 

Byleth sighed and glanced back at her. “Sorry for the trouble. I found those cookbooks you were looking for, by the way. When would you like me to bring them over?” 

“Whenever you get the chance,” she grunted, waving a dismissive hand at him. 

Byleth shrugged, glancing back at the other inhabitants staring at him. “Well? Get back to your food.” 

They immediately diverted their attention elsewhere, and Byleth retraced his steps through the reception hall to reach the second floor. Knights were glaring at him, but he could sense their fear and their wariness. 

“My, my, that was quite some excitement, wasn’t it?” Sothis’s voice almost made him jump. “Who was that strange girl?” 

“I don’t know, but she’s an interesting one,” Byleth strode up to the entrance of the audience chamber, where two knights were standing before the doors. 

“Professor, what were you thinking, protecting that girl?” one asked, an exasperated sigh escaping him. “Lady Rhea is not going to be happy about this.” 

“Where is she? She mentioned a third floor,” Byleth rested his sauroter against the floor, making metal scrape against stone. 

“Upstairs, in her quarters,” a guard pointed at a stairway on the opposite side of the hall that Byleth had remembered seeing. “You are going to have to leave your weapons here, shield included.” 

“We’ll get your shield to the smiths for repairs,” the other guard offered. “Looks like that bird really did a number on it.” 

“Appreciated,” the knights knew better than to mess with a Spartan’s shield by now, having learned that lesson the hard way, and Byleth handed over his shield and weapons to the knights before striding up the second stairway. 

He reached another narrow hall that branched off to a room to the immediate right and a corridor to the left, which carried a sweet wind with it. Maybe it led to that balcony he’d first seen Rhea on last month? 

He strode up to the other room and knocked on the door, glancing over his shoulder at the other room to see that it did lead to some sort of courtyard. 

“Enter,” Rhea’s voice came from within and he pushed the doors open to find himself in a rather simple yet elegant bedchamber. 

The archbishop was seated at a small table, an empty chair right across from her, and she waved him over. Byleth bowed his head to her and obeyed, easing his armor-laden body into the cushioned chair. 

“My lady,” he awaited her sentence, reaching up and freeing his head from the heavy confines of his helmet before setting it on the floor next to the chair. 

“Please, Professor, you need not be so formal when it is just the two of us,” she gave him a warm smile and folded her hands together. “Perhaps I should be the first to follow my own advice, should I not, Byleth?” 

“No harm done, Rhea,” Byleth wasn’t entirely sure what she would do, but if she attempted to have him executed just for protecting that girl, he would fight with everything he had. 

Podiarches and the other Spartans would take his side, without question, but he didn’t want to drag his students into it if he could avoid it. 

“Now, we must address the issue of that intruder from Abyss,” Rhea’s eyes hardened and she straightened her back, all trace of friendliness gone. “What do you know of Abyss?” 

“Nothing,” Byleth answered. 

She nodded as if she’d expected the answer. “Not many outside of the staff and monks know of it. Abyss is...a place beneath the monastery for ne’er-do-wells and other undesirables who are too dangerous to allow on the monastery grounds.” 

“So, you have a place to dump people you don’t want to deal with but don’t want to kill outright, is that it?” Byleth frowned. 

Rhea sighed. “I understand how it sounds, Byleth, but those people have nowhere else to go and we give them a place beneath the monastery so long as they stay underground. They stay in Abyss and we leave them alone, such is our arrangement.” 

“The girl looked like she was wearing some kind of uniform,” Byleth pointed out. 

“I...gave permission for a fourth House to be created for some of the people in Abyss, at the urging of one of our monks, Aelfrid. It is called the Ashen Wolf House,” Rhea said. “That girl was one of those aligned with the Wolves.” 

“A fourth House? Who’s teaching them?” Byleth frowned. 

“I do not know if I like this idea forming in your head,” Sothis muttered. “You have a hard enough time handling one flock of sheep!” 

“Nobody, since we do not have staff to spare,” Rhea had also guessed his intentions, if that raised eyebrow was any indication. “Are you going to suggest what I think you are, Byleth?” 

“Well, it depends on how many people are currently in the Ashen Wolves,” Byleth folded his arms before his chest, absently tapping his fingers against the cold metal of one vambrace. 

“As of now, I am aware of four Ashen Wolves,” Rhea informed him. “One of which was that girl you defended.” 

“Four? Even you could handle four,” Sothis mused. “Are you certain you wish to do this?” 

“Four seems doable,” Byleth nodded. 

Rhea nodded slowly, curiosity and concern warring in her eyes along with something else that made Byleth’s defensive instincts flare. “If this is something you feel you wish to do, then I will not stop you. It would be better, however, if you approached the Ashen Wolves on your own, as they do not have a particular fondness of the Church.” 

“I can do that,” Byleth bowed his head to her, feeling his braided hair sway at the motion. “Thank you, Rhea. I apologize for the trouble I have caused.” 

A mischievous smile formed on her painted lips. “Oh, you need not apologize! If anything, I’ve found this little extra chaos to be quite exciting! Now, I understand you have yet to report on Zanado.” 

Byleth nodded, feeling the strange stone grow warmer in his pocket. “We left none of the bandits alive and sustained no casualties, although my students did take quite a few injuries.” 

Rhea nodded but kept staring as if she was waiting for more, for something else. 

“Why do I feel as if she sent you to Zanado for a reason beyond exterminating those brigands?” Sothis wondered. 

“I did have something unusual happen while I was there,” Byleth approached the subject carefully. “The bandit leader, Kostas, threw a stone at my head and it reacted strangely to my Crest.” 

“A stone?” Rhea frowned, curiosity glimmering in her eyes. 

Byleth fished the stone out of his satchel and held it out to her, the fingers that brushed his almost unnaturally warm as she took it. 

“Oh! This Crest...” she stared at the marking, then lifted her excitement-filled gaze to him. “Do you know what this is, Byleth?” 

“My Crest,” Byleth conjured up the Crest in all of its glory, which made Rhea smile in a way that made him reach for a weapon that was no longer there. 

“Do you know what that Crest is?” she asked, almost predatory in the way she was staring at him. 

“Hanneman didn’t have a record of it when I looked through them before we left for Zanado,” Byleth shook his head. 

“She is making me feel rather odd,” Sothis murmured. “And very uncomfortable.” 

“Same here,” Byleth answered mentally, his hardened muscles itching to start swinging. 

“This is the Crest of Flames,” Rhea explained, reaching out and clasping Byleth’s hand with hers after setting the stone down. “The Crest of the Goddess. I had a feeling that you were special, indeed, but to think that you were blessed with a power the Goddess, Herself, once commanded...” 

“The Crest of Flames?” Byleth frowned, switching from external to internal voice. “Sothis, does that sound familiar to you?” 

“It doesn’t, but don’t say something you may regret! Rhea is becoming...a little unsettling.” 

“You have great power and I feel you will do great things with it,” the archbishop declared, her smile more than a little predatory, almost as sinister as Podiarches’s when he thought of a particularly grueling training session for Byleth to undergo. “Now, I trust your accommodations are to your liking?” 

Accommodations? 

“If you mean my room in the battalion guild, then yes, it will suffice,” Byleth wanted to pull his hand from hers, almost feeling talons digging into his flesh. 

Rhea balked, eyes wide with surprise. “Your room in the guild? Where we house our soldiers? Didn’t Seteth inform you that we were setting aside a room for you that was closer to the students and the Academy?” 

“No,” Byleth shook his head. 

Rhea frowned. “I specifically told him to see to it this month. Do not concern yourself with it, Byleth: I will see that you are notified when it is ready for you.” 

She squeezed his hand, those invisible talons digging further into his flesh as she did. 

“Thank you, Rhea,” Byleth bowed his head: it would be nice to have chambers closer to the students and the classroom, but he’d grown accustomed to marching the distance in full armor and equipment. 

It made for a decent morning workout before lectures and training. At least he and the other Spartans had found a secluded space outside of the monastery to train in the ways they’d done before Seteth shut them down. 

And speaking of training, he needed to really get started on his students’ training with the other Spartans if he was going to whip them into shape. Starting with stamina: laps around the monastery grounds in heavy armor should be a good first step, although Dimitri’s unnatural strength would be interesting to work with. 

“Of course, Byleth!” Rhea beamed at him. “I must say: I would so enjoy it if we could do this more often. Just you and I, talking together and perhaps sharing some tea.” 

“I would enjoy that as well, Rhea,” Byleth gave her the only answer that felt safe to give, his warning instincts still firing off full force. 

She squeezed his hand again. “Then we must do this again! You may return to your duties, Professor.” 

“Thank you, Lady Rhea,” with that dismissal, Byleth picked up his helmet and rose, bowing one last time before placing the heavy bronze headgear in place. 

It was time to do what all Spartans did best: fight and train to fight. 


	8. Is It Training Or Torture?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or maybe it's both?

“Watch your spacing!” Byleth was pacing back and forth through the training hall, watching as his fellow Spartans beat the ever-living hells out of his poor students. 

“Harder, girl! Don’t hold back just because you’re afraid of hurting me!” Timotheos was tormenting a bruised and sweat-covered Annette as she held a battered training axe in both hands. “Axes require strength, and strength requires hardship!” 

At least the girl had recovered from her wound, having only a small scar left behind by the healing magicks. 

Dedue stumbled back as another blow from his trainer sent him reeling, blood dripping from his nose as he lifted his arms up just in time to block a vicious right hook from the Spartan. 

“Nice block, but you’re still too slow!” the Spartan’s left jab got the Duscur boy right in the gut, forcing the air from his lungs and making him drop his guard. “Always protect your vitals when you’re fighting hand-to-hand!” 

Sylvain was knocked on his rear yet again by Podiarches, his training lance skittering away as the veteran lowered the tip of his own weapon to the boy’s throat. 

“Even in training, you must treat this like a life and death confrontation,” the old warrior advised, his face hard beneath his helmet. “Do not expect us to go easy on you just because this is training.” 

To the side, Ingrid yelped as she stumbled over her feet and almost ran head-first into a training dummy. 

“Mind your balance, girl!” Timotheos hauled her back. “Spread your weight a bit farther on your legs.” 

“This isn’t how the Kingdom taught us to fight!” the girl protested, taking the stance the Spartan was indicating. 

“No, but this may save your life one day when you come across someone who does know your Kingdom fighting style and is able to counter your every move,” Timotheos retorted, smacking her guard aside with a one-handed swipe of his weapon. 

Ashe and Dimitri were sparring with one another, any mistakes in their form or footwork earning a hard swat from the supervising soldiers along with a barked command. 

“Those are spears, not swords! Use their length to your advantage! Bait your opponent into overextending and then end it!” 

Felix was dueling a Spartan blade on blade, their wooden weapons clacking viciously together as the older soldier exploited the young noble’s openings with ruthless glee despite the bruises he’d taken from Felix’s vicious and unorthodox yet effective fighting style. 

“Not bad, boy! You seek victory at all costs, but do not underestimate your opponent! Use everything you have as a weapon, especially your body!” the Spartan parried the boy’s sword, then lifted his gauntlet to block Felix’s lightning-fast jab before grabbing his fist and yanking him off-balance. 

A swift kick from a bronze-covered leg sent Felix sprawling onto the ground, a stream of curses flowing from the boy’s lips as he scrabbled to get back up. His opponent slammed a foot on his back and knocked him back down, pinning him to the ground. 

“You have potential, but you need to push yourself even harder! Become even stronger! We’ll teach you how, but it won’t be easy by any means,” the Spartan stepped back and offered Felix a hand as the boy pushed himself up, shooting a death glare at the man and swatting aside his offered help. 

“They are growing capable, but they need conditioning and discipline,” Podiarches strode over, brushing off his hands as he looked back to where Sylvain was curled in a ball on the ground, groaning softly. “I think I hit him too hard.” 

“He’ll live,” Byleth grunted, looking over the students again. “Where in Ares’s name is Mercedes? She’s usually never late.” 

He would focus on physical conditioning for now, then shift on pushing the kids to work as a unit before progressing to commanding roles such as leading their own units into battle. As long as he met the Church’s standards regarding their education, he was certain he would be able to forge the kids into actual soldiers by the year’s end. 

Not Spartans by any means, but perhaps they would prove to be a match for the old veterans. Dimitri’s inhuman Crest-fueled strength was already proving difficult to curb in training, but he was stronger and better conditioned than his classmates and was a bit easier to work with. 

The doors ground open behind him and Byleth turned to see a red-faced Mercedes sprint into the training grounds, her hair wet as if she’d just gotten out of the baths. 

“I’m sorry I’m late, Professor!” she gasped. “I was helping out in the greenhouse and then I was organizing the books in the library with Hilda when I spilled ink all over myself! I went to take a bath before coming here but the warm water made me doze off! I ran here as quickly as I could!” 

“Mercie!” Annette’s strangled yelp made the older girl wave to her friend. 

“M-Mercedes!” Dimitri’s face turned beet red and he quickly looked away from her, Ashe doing the same while Sylvain whistled appreciatively. 

“What? Why are you all staring at me?” Mercedes asked, apparently completely unaware that she was utterly naked. “I toweled myself off, didn’t I?” 

“Partially,” Byleth studied her soft body, already seeing that he had his work cut out for him if he was to make this girl a battle-hardened warrior. 

Her arms were thin and her torso smooth and unmarred, the body of one not used to rigorous combat training and fighting. He could see where she was developing muscle, or at least starting to, and he was pleased with how far she’d come after just a month or so of training in between the long lectures and assignments he had to give. 

Byleth had no issues in seeing her bare like this: he’d spent years training in the nude with men who did the exact same thing, but he didn’t want Mercedes to get in trouble with Seteth because the Church apparently had an issue with people being naked on the monastery grounds. 

He strode over to the puzzled girl, pulled his red cloak off held it out to her before leaning over to lower his voice. “Get dressed, please. I think you were too eager to get over here.” 

Mercedes looked down and her face turned even redder, an embarrassed squeal rattling from her lips as she grabbed the cloak and wrapped it tightly around herself. 

“O-oh my goodness! I must have left my clothes in the bathhouse!” she stammered. “I’m so sorry, Professor!” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Byleth looked over at Annette. “Annette, will you go with her?” 

“Yes, Professor!” Annette hurriedly slipped her training axe into the metal ring on her waist and ran over, stumbling over a pile of boxes and shrieking as she nearly fell before catching her balance. “Who put those boxes there?!” 

“Don’t kill yourselves,” Byleth advised them as the two girls hurried off. 

“What are you lot staring at?” Podiarches barked at the students, lifting his spear in a rather menacing way. “Back to work!” 

“Are you certain it is wise to brutalize your students?” Argo made a rare appearance in the training yard after the girls departed, the skinny bird-like healer strutting in with concern in his eyes as he watched the Spartans continue their harsh ministrations. “Is their education not worth the effort?” 

“It is, but I wish to make these students capable of surviving on the battlefield while the Church insists on throwing them into armed conflict,” Byleth answered. “Especially since this mission will be throwing us against a lord’s army.” 

“I thought your mission was just to follow the Knights of Seiros as they put down Lonato’s army?” Argo frowned. 

“I do not think it will be that easy,” Byleth shook his head. “Lonato won’t be foolish enough to engage them head on, so he must have a more specific target in mind.” 

“The rear guard?” Argo guessed. 

“Or someone among the rear guard,” Byleth looked at where Dimitri was again sparring with Ashe, the two probing at one another with their lances. “Rhea tells me that Catherine was the one who handed over Christophe Gaspard to be executed after the Tragedy of Duscur.” 

Argo raised an eyebrow at the words. “You think Lonato is waiting for Catherine so he can kill her?” 

“That is my guess, given the information Rhea gave me earlier, when she was briefing me on the mission,” Byleth leaned on his dory and hoplon and watched the training proceed. 

Perhaps this was less personal, but the Spartans were the ones who’d trained him, so this process would be as if several Byleths were seeing to all of the Blue Lions at once. Crude, but perhaps it would be effective. 

“Well, if you need any help with their education, you know I’m here for you,” Argo sniffled and wiped at his curved nose. “I know this is a lot for a soldier to handle, especially since you’re not trained to instruct kids like this.” 

“As long as I have the books and other materials, I think I can manage for now,” Byleth nodded. “Besides, I know the Church has you busy scribing some old surviving texts for them or something of the sort.” 

The man sighed and nodded, then lowered his voice. “Those books are fascinating and all, but there are many curious inconsistencies with the entries. Seteth doesn’t want me saying anything about it, but these curiosities are driving me insane.” 

“Inconsistencies?” Byleth glanced over at the scholar. 

“There are no mentions of the identities of the previous Archbishops: no portraits or anything else, and the names were all struck out,” Argo mused, tapping his chin. “But they all agree that each and every Archbishop has been female and of a similar mind and temperament.” 

“How so?” Byleth turned his gaze to the students and the others in the yard, making sure nobody seemed to be paying too much attention to the words: information was valuable to mercenaries and soldiers and to those listening in on things they shouldn’t be. 

“Each Archbishop was known for her fierce devotion to the Church of Seiros and her ruthlessness, using military force to put down any resistance or rebellions against the church’s authority, no matter who they were,” the scholar swallowed and tugged at the collar of his robes. “There was...a rather nasty incident where the Archbishop ordered a group of civilian woodcutters executed after they tried to deface some sacred forest in retaliation for the Church shutting down their operation.” 

“She was willing to execute civilians when they made a supposed offense against the heavens and the Church,” Byleth once again found himself readjusting his opinion of this mysterious Archbishop. 

She was possibly much more dangerous than he’d first anticipated. 

“Either way, we all need to tread carefully around her and her devoted,” Argo fiddled with his wire glasses. “Especially Seteth and Catherine.” 

“Agreed. Did you tell my father of all of this?” Byleth asked, and the scholar shook his head. 

“The captain’s on another mission for now, so I wasn’t able to tell him anything. Baron and the rest of the company are with him, save for you and the Spartans and myself, of course,” Argo lifted a hand to his chin. “Say, didn’t you have an incident a few days ago involving some red-haired girl with grey clothes in the cemetery?” 

“Red? Yes, I did,” Byleth hadn’t seen that girl, since, but he was trying to find a way into this Abyss place. 

With no success at all, unfortunately. 

“I heard some of the staff, earlier, talking about the headstones. They were apparently making sure they weren’t damaged from that monster attack when they found a headstone belonging to someone named Sitri Eisner.” 

“Eisner? Isn’t that your last name?” Sothis’s voice almost made Byleth jump. 

Why was she only now speaking up?! 

“Eisner? I’m not aware of anyone else in my family aside from myself and my father,” Byleth frowned. “Unless...it’s my mother, but why would she be buried here?” 

“This is indeed curious! What other mysteries surround you, I wonder?” Sothis mused. 

“I don’t know,” he sent back. 

“I’d best let you get back to torturing, uh, training your students,” Argo swallowed again before walking away, leaving Byleth with many more questions than answers. 

“What more are we going to uncover about you?” said the girl inside his head. 

“I don’t know, but I’m not liking this one bit,” Byleth shook his head and turned his attention back to his students as they were again beaten down by their trainers. “We need to focus on this month’s mission, especially Ashe.” 

Sothis hummed thoughtfully. “Poor boy: having to face his adoptive father in battle...Do you believe that this Lord Lonato will be going after Catherine?” 

“I do,” Byleth caught a glimpse of something moving behind one of the pillars, something grey. “Did you see that?” 

“See what?” 

He hefted his hoplon and dory and strode over to the spot in question, hoping that the noise from his companions would mask his footsteps. He reached the column and peered around, spear ready, only to find empty space. 

“I swore I saw something,” he scowled and turned away, striding back towards his students. 

“Please do not tell me that you are losing your mind!” Sothis exclaimed, slight panic in her voice. “I wish to keep us both intact!” 

“I am fine: I probably just saw a shadow from above or something,” Byleth shook his head, watching Podiarches knock Sylvain down yet again. 

“Look at your opponent, boy! Not at the audience!” 

Audience? What audience? 

Byleth looked towards the doors and saw several students and monks watching the training, several bearing terrified looks on their faces as they beheld the beatings enfolding before their eyes. 

“I’m not going to do this to you, don’t worry,” Byleth grunted, pausing as almost overwhelming power flooded his senses. 

“I’d hope not, my teacher,” Edelgard strode out of the crowd, a bemused but cautious look on her face as she watched the training. “I’m surprised Seteth allows you to do this.” 

“He’s not happy about it, but Rhea’s encouraging me to continue, so he stays quiet,” Byleth replied, Sothis wincing as Dedue was thrown violently onto the ground by his trainer. 

“Are you sure this is helping them?” Lysithea joined them, the buzzing of her two magical cores making Byleth’s skin itch even more. “This seems more like a punishment than training.” 

“Hardships forge the mind and body, and so we must be broken down before we can be rebuilt into something stronger,” Byleth repeated the words that Podiarches and the others had instilled into him from the first day. “I have no intention of maiming them or killing them, so you need not worry about them too much.” 

Dedue picked himself up off the ground, wiped off the blood on his mouth, then lunged at his Spartan trainer. The veteran jabbed once, twice, but the boy blocked both attacks and then lashed out with a blow of his own. His large fist hit the Spartan’s raised vambrace, and the soldier nodded approvingly. 

“Good! You’re getting the hang of it! Now, do it again!” 

“If you say so,” Lysithea shuddered. “Won’t this get in the way of their studying if they’re in the infirmary all the time?” 

“I tend to them myself,” Byleth answered. “They don’t leave until I have thoroughly looked over their injuries and deem them healed.” 

“You’re quite talented with white magic, I hear,” Edelgard nodded. 

Their combined presence was making his head fuzzy...damn it all. 

“I am, though I do not know why I have such skill with it,” Byleth glanced up at the sky, watching as the sun began to peek over the walls. “We still have the yard for another hour.” 

“Perhaps you and I could spar to kill some time?” Edelgard asked, a coy smile on her lips as excitement gleamed in her eyes. “You don’t seem to have much to do, my teacher.” 

“Your teacher?” Lysithea commented with a raised eyebrow. “I though Professor Casagranda was teaching your class?” 

Edelgard gave the girl a world-weary look before pulling a training axe from a nearby weapon rack and taking a position across from Byleth. 

“I never agreed to spar with you,” Byleth pointed out, easing his body into a battle stance regardless as his blood stirred at the prospect of entering combat. 

Edelgard hesitated. “Are you certain you want to use your equipment against me? I don’t want to damage the bronze on your shield.” 

“Lady Rhea had it reinforced to handle further punishment,” Byleth assured her, admitting that he was satisfied with the hoplon’s increased weight. “And I’m not going to harm you: I’ve trained with actual weapons for over a decade and am well in control of my own strength.” 

It would make him and the other Spartans even stronger, even if they did complain about their ancestral gear being modified by someone other than them. Their armor and shields were family heirlooms, passed down from one generation to the next, and each man was fiercely protective of them, the shields especially. 

Byleth wondered briefly if he would ever have any offspring to pass his gear off to. 

Edelgard nodded, her gaze hardening as she gripped the axe with her curious one-handed style. “Have at you, then!” 

She lunged before even finishing her sentence, but Byleth easily saw it coming and lifted his shield to take her powerful blow. Wood slammed into metal, the force of the blow making his arm tremble as he pushed back against Edelgard’s unnatural strength. 

He thrust out at her with his spear, making her sidestep, and then charged with his shield in an attempt to ram her. Edelgard danced out of reach, swiping at him as she did. Her axe clanged against the hoplon, but Byleth shrugged off the attack in order to sweep his spear outwards. 

As he’d hoped, she backpedaled to avoid the strike, momentarily throwing herself off-balance for Byleth’s next attack as he charged her again. His shield hit her head-on, throwing her hard onto her rear and sending her axe flying. 

Byleth lowered the leaf-shaped head of his dory so it menaced her throat. 

“I still have so much to learn,” Edelgard sighed, but she was smiling as she looked up at him. “I hope to continue training with you, my teacher.” 

One-on-one training with Edelgard? That did sound enjoyable. 

Byleth transferred his spear to his other hand and offered the freed hand down for Edelgard. She grabbed it and allowed him to pull her up to her feet, the warmth of her hand sinking into his own before he released her. 

“How have your classes been faring?” he looked at the two white-haired girls standing before him as Lysithea made her way over from where she’d been watching. 

“Professor von Essar is competent, but I find myself outpacing his lectures and working ahead by weeks to try to gain a further understanding of more advanced topics,” Lysithea folded her small arms before her chest and sighed. “I need to keep working harder and harder, or else I’m not doing everything I can for my parents...” 

“You’re hardworking and quite brilliant, so I have no doubt that you’ll find whatever you’re seeking,” Byleth nodded. “I’m no scholar or anything, but if you think I can help in any way, feel free to seek me out.” 

Lysithea smiled at his words, her cheeks reddening a little bit. “Thank you, Professor. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“Manuela knows what she’s doing, which is a relief to me. It is a bit difficult to balance training, missions, and classwork, but I am doing well enough,” Edelgard reported, glancing at Lysithea with grudging respect in her eyes. “Although, the Black Eagles aren’t enduring such a...rigorous regimen in regards to our combat training and our missions aren’t quite as demanding as yours.” 

Byleth nodded again, his skin prickling from the powerhouses standing mere feet before him. “I can always spar with you or train you with the others if that’s what you’d like. And you’re free to join us on our missions if Manuela and Seteth allow it.” 

“I’d enjoy that, but I don’t believe Hubert would,” she gave him a wry smile. 

“I’m sure we could find a way to deal with him,” Byleth shrugged. “I’d certainly look forward to it.” 

Edelgard laughed at that, then quickly clammed up as the crowd parted. 

“Lady Edelgard, you didn’t tell me you were coming here,” Hubert’s dark form knifed through the others, a displeased glare focused on Byleth. “I was waiting in the classroom as you’d requested.” 

“My apologies, Hubert: I came here on a whim when I was heading for class,” Edelgard shook her head. “Shall we go?” 

Hubert bowed low. “As you wish, Lady Edelgard.” 

“Take care, my teacher,” Edelgard bowed to Byleth and walked away, her head held high and back as straight and stiff as a spear as her shoulder cape flowed behind her. 

“He unnerves me greatly,” Lysithea muttered once the two Imperials had departed. 

“He does seem more threatening than most of the other students,” Byleth mused, glancing back at his own students as a particularly loud clang made several of the onlookers wince. 

“Damn it, boy, what in Ares’s name were you thinking, headbutting a bronze helmet?!” the Spartan standing over a writhing Felix demanded, sporting a new dent in his conical helmet while he brushed off his white linothrax. 

“Well, some lessons need to be learned the hard way,” Byleth sighed, shaking his head and feeling the plumes of his red crest sway at the movement. “Alright, that’s enough sparring! Everyone, line up!” 

The Blue Lions set their weapons away and hurried over to stand at attention before him, the Spartans forming up behind them. 

“Did you get them?” Podiarches asked as he and Timotheos strode up to Byleth. 

“Yes,” Byleth set his spear and shield against the wall and made his way to the boxes Annette had tripped over earlier, then pried them open. “Alright, I want each of you to take one and sling it across your backs like you’re carrying a pack!” 

He stooped, picked up one of the items within, then rose to show it to his students. They were the larger versions of the standard Church-issued leather round shield, the kind reserved for heavily armored knights on the front lines. 

“Um, Professor, aren’t those really heavy?” Lysithea asked as Podiarches and Timotheos began distributing the shields. 

“Yes,” Byleth answered as grunts and curses followed his students’ struggling to sling the heavy shields across their backs. 

Dimitri and Dedue had already done as ordered, standing tall and stoic as they awaited further direction. Ashe was almost doubled over from the weight, wheezing from the effort while Ingrid and Sylvain looked slightly better. Felix was bearing it decently, but his bruised forehead made him look even angrier than he usually did. 

All Byleth needed were Annette and Mercedes, but he’d prefer to get started sooner rather than later. 

“Alright, we’ll start with laps around the grounds,” Byleth declared. 

“With this?” Sylvain spluttered. “Professor, this makes me look ridiculous! The girls are going to laugh at me and it’s really heavy!” 

“Would you prefer my armor and hoplon?” Byleth asked. “They’re about sixty or so pounds heavier than that shield.” 

“Um, I’ll stick with this,” Sylvain muttered, a faint look of horror crossing his features. 

“Come on! With me!” Byleth ordered, waving them after him as he slung his hoplon onto one arm and relished the heavy weight. 

Time for the fun to begin. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

By the time dinner came and went, Byleth had been shown to his new quarters on the very end of the student dorms, where a dorm room had been hastily converted into a supply closet and then converted again into a room for himself. 

It was furnished similarly to the students’ own: a large desk and shelving for books and materials along with one small table and a bed. It was simple and straightforward, which was perfect. The scent of cleaning supplies still lingered, but it wasn’t intolerable and Byleth had smelled far worse. 

He was sitting at his desk, poring over a book on mixed unit tactics and stratagems when he heard muffled voices coming from...somewhere. He glanced over at where his gear was resting against the desk and then glanced down at the wood flooring beneath his feet, where the voices were getting louder. If the intruders were armed, they would find that even a Spartan wearing only his tunic and sandles was a force to be reckoned with. What was this strange...aura he could feel? 

“What in Ares’s name?” he muttered, now recognizing that the voices were decidedly female. 

“We won’t be up for long, I promise you!” one declared. “I simply must get some of those tea leaves before the cooks dispose of them! It is absolutely criminal to simply toss them away!” 

The floor beneath his feet jolted as if someone was pushing up on it, making the voice grunt. 

“What on earth? What did they put on the trapdoor this time?” she complained, another grunt preceding a body hitting the trapdoor. “It’s heavy, whatever it is! This is an insult to my efforts!” 

“Calm down, Coco,” a markedly familiar voice made Byleth push his chair back after the other girl hit the door again. “Why are you making me come with you, again? It’s almost sunset and I want to sleep soon.” 

“Ah ha! None shall deny my efforts!” the first voice declared as the door was flung open, cracking against the underside of the desk before slamming shut again. “Curse it! There’s something else above the door!” 

“Just push it open slowly and climb out,” the second voice suggested. “Y’know, without slamming your head into whatever they put up there.” 

“Right, right, of course!” the door creaked open in a much slower and controlled manner, allowing a girl’s blonde head to pop out. 

She froze, eyes wide as she stared at Byleth. 

“Coco? Why’d you stop?” the familiar voice that could only be one person asked. 

“There’s someone up here,” the girl blurted, those wide eyes finding the armor and weapons stacked against the wall. “He’s a knight!” 

“You down there, Red?” Byleth asked before they could duck back into the tunnel. “I thought I heard your voice.” 

“Wait a minute. Coco, move!” the blue-streaked blonde girl was dragged down and a much more familiar redhead poked out in her place, studying Byleth. “Shiny? Is that you?” 

He nodded. “I’m afraid I don’t look so shiny without my armor, but yes, it’s me.” 

Her lips broke into a grin as she began to haul herself out of the trapdoor. “It’s okay, Coco: this is the guy who helped me a while back.” 

Byleth offered her a hand, which she took and allowed him to pull her to her feet. 

“Would you offer a hand to a noblewoman?” Coco demanded from the hole, and Byleth held out his hand to the dainty girl. “You have my thanks!” 

He pulled the other girl out and found her wearing a grey dress of a similar make to Red’s, her blue-streaked blonde hair carefully tended to and her aquiline face bore a hint of makeup. She looked and sounded like a noblewoman, but her tired eyes and thin frame spoke volumes of the poverty she was enduring despite her attempts to appear otherwise. That, and she’d called herself one mere moments before. 

“What are you doing here?” Red asked Byleth as she plopped on his bed, making the springs creak. “This place was a supply closet yesterday.” 

“Rhea wanted me to have a room closer to the students, so she turned the closet back into a dorm room,” Byleth shrugged, watching Coco as she walked over to examine his gear. 

Both girls had Crests: he could feel the power radiating from them, but they didn’t feel like any of the others had. Different Crests, maybe? 

“My, what strange armor!” she commented, poking the abs sculpted onto the belled cuirass. “It brings Balthus to mind, does it not?” 

“Kinda, I guess,” Red mused. “I didn’t really notice it when the knights were trying to kill me just because I wanted some food.” 

That reminded him. 

“How did your people like the food you acquired for them?” he asked her, and she sat up. 

“It...was gone quickly, but it helped hold us over until Yuribird got us another shipment of food from his, uh, sources,” Red nodded, a wistful look crossing her features. “Those candies were so good.” 

Sweet tooth, indeed, just like Lysithea and Annette. 

“I’ll see if I can get you some more, Red,” Byleth offered, and she beamed at him. 

“You’re the best, Shiny.” 

“Do either of you know the other’s name?” Coco demanded from where she’d been studying his hoplon. 

“Nope.” 

“No.” 

The noblewoman glared at Red, then shook her head as if exhausted by the other girl. “My goodness! To think that you lack the decorum to even introduce yourselves! I am Constance von Nuvelle, and it is my purpose in life to see my house restored to its former glory!” 

“Constance?” Sothis mused. “Well, I suppose I can see where the other one got ‘Coco’ from.” 

“I’m Hapi,” Red finally introduced herself, a small smile on her lips. “Hapi with an ‘i’, not a ‘y’.” 

“My name is Byleth Eisner,” Byleth said. “I’m the professor of the Blue Lion House.” 

Both girls paused, a bright gleam in Constance’s eyes as she clapped her hands together with excitement. 

“Oho! _You’re_ the new professor that everyone’s been talking about!” the noblewoman declared. “I was curious as to what you were like!” 

Hapi nodded slowly and rose from the bed, her gaze roaming over Byleth as a smirk curved her lips. “Huh, I’d heard that you were beautiful but clearly the stories were exaggerating.” 

“Ow, my pride,” Byleth drawled, which earned a snicker from the girl. 

“Hapi, don’t be rude!” Constance chided, scowling at her companion. “This man risked his life to save you, did he not?” 

The floating form of Sothis almost made Byleth jump as the girl cruised over to Hapi and settled herself next to the girl, scrutinizing her. 

“These must be two of the Ashen Wolves Rhea spoke of, are they not?” Sothis mused, poking a finger through Hapi’s cheek. “I wonder who the other two are.” 

“Aren’t you two part of the Ashen Wolf House?” Byleth spoke up, cutting through the girls’ bickering. 

“Yes, why?” Hapi asked, absently twirling a finger through her hair. 

“You don’t have a teacher at the moment, right?” 

Constance shook her head, a scowl forming on her face. “No, we don’t. Our house is a house in name only: we have no supplies, no teacher, and no classes.” 

“Well, Rhea gave me permission to invite you guys into the Blue Lions if you would like to,” Byleth watched their reactions closely, noting how Hapi frowned at the mention of Rhea. “If you accepted, you’d be allowed to roam the grounds as students rather than just Abyssians, with access to the mess hall, the library, and whatnot. And you would be allowed to attend my lectures and training if you’d like.” 

“I accept!” Constance declared almost instantly, excitement gleaming in her eyes. “But I will be limiting my time on the surface, you understand.” 

“That was fast,” Sothis was currently halfway through Constance’s chest, phasing through the girl with her feet kicking lazily through the Wolf’s waist. “They are strange, but so are the rest of your little flock.” 

“It’s not an issue,” Byleth shook his head. “Hapi?” 

She was staring at him, digesting his words as she ran the offer through her mind, mulling over her answer. 

“Well...if it’s you and you promise to not just dump me somewhere like the knights did, I guess I’ll join your class,” she said slowly. 

“Dump you? Ah, I remember that you were saying something about the Knights of Seiros throwing you in Abyss,” Byleth frowned, spike of heat almost spurring him to seek out the nearest knight and deck them in the face. “I have no intention of abandoning you anywhere, I promise you that. You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.” 

A more genuine smile crossed Hapi’s lips. “Thanks, Shiny. Or should I call you Professor?” 

“Either’s fine,” Byleth shrugged. “Ah, I suppose I should tell you that we have a mission coming up in about a week: we’re to help the Church deal with a rebellion in Gaspard territory.” 

Both girls soured immediately. 

“I’ve heard the rumors,” Constance sighed. “Lord Lonato raising an army against the Church and all that...makes one wonder just what he’s thinking.” 

“If someone wants to fight back against the Church, more power to them,” Hapi shrugged. 

“You really hate the Church, don’t you?” Byleth asked her, and she hesitated. 

“Well, it’s not like they’re trying to help everyone,” she replied. “I’d rather not fight for them, but you’ll have my support so long as you’re not just a mindless devotee.” 

Byleth grunted. “Believe me: I have plenty of misgivings about them and their way of doing things. My loyalty is to my students, first and foremost.” 

“Good,” Hapi nodded. “Just...promise that you’ll walk your own path, okay?” 

“My, my, she’s quite concerned for you!” Sothis mused, seeming to be entertaining herself by floating through both girls. “Quite curious for someone you’ve just met!” 

“That was my intention, Hapi, but I promise,” Byleth said. “You two should be going back for now. Lectures start early, so talk to the other Ashen Wolf students to see if they’d like to join my class as well.” 

“Okay, Professor!” Constance beamed, then hesitated. 

“Just tell me what tea leaves you want and I’ll get them for you,” Byleth offered. 

“Oh, you’re absolutely wonderful!” the girl declared. “Come, Hapi! If I am to rebuild House Nuvelle, then I must keep researching!” 

She shimmied into the trapdoor and vanished. 

Hapi sighed and shook her head. “I have to say: I’m actually looking forward to this. Well, so long as you don’t make me do that torture you call training. Running laps with giant shields on their backs? Ouch.” 

“That was you?” Byleth grinned at her. “I knew I saw something.” 

“Sorry for hiding: I couldn’t really tell that it was you since all you Spartans look the same, with some exceptions,” Hapi laughed. “It was kinda terrifying, if I’m being honest.” 

“Sorry for scaring you,” Byleth apologized. 

She shook her head. “It’s fine, Shiny. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Sleep well, Hapi,” Byleth watched the girl duck into the door and close it behind her, vanishing. 

“Well, that was certainly interesting!” Sothis declared. “I think they will make fine additions to your little band of misfits!” 

“Are they my little band of misfits or my flock?” Byleth asked, and the girl tapped her chin thoughtfully. 

“Both?” she mused. 

Byleth pushed his chair back to the desk and settled himself into it, then glanced over at the hovering specter. “Did you sense anything about them that seemed strange?” 

“The girls?” Sothis met his gaze. “They both had Crests, did they not? Although they felt...different than the others.” 

“Right. I thought I’d gotten used to feeling Crests around me, especially Lysithea and Edelgard’s, but this was unusual,” Byleth nodded. 

“Well, no point in wondering! Back to it!” 

Byleth looked down at the assignments he was meant to grade. “Yes, mother.” 


	9. Magdred Way

Byleth stood in silence before the grave of the woman named Sitri Eisner, letting the morning chill sink into his armor-covered body. The sun was beginning its ascent, golden light dancing across the dew-covered grasses and bushes of budding flowers. The scent of said flowers mingled with the wet vegetation, almost too sweet for his liking but he preferred it to the stench of blood and metal. 

“Ah, here you are!” footsteps from above were followed by a familiar voice, his gaze shifting to see Edelgard striding down the stairs towards him. “I was hoping I’d find you before you departed for Castle Gaspard.” 

“Edelgard,” Byleth inclined his head to her before turning back to the headstone. “What did you need?” 

He felt her approach, felt her power resonating from her small body as she stood at his side. “Oh? I didn’t know you had family buried on the monastery grounds.” 

“Neither did I. Only learned of this from Argo a few days ago,” Byleth responded. 

“Curious,” Edelgard mused, then cleared her throat. “My teacher, I was wondering if you would allow me to join you on your mission.” 

Byleth glanced back at her, found her impenetrable gaze impossible to read. 

“My, she’s certainly developed quite the interest in you, has she not?” Sothis mused. “Just like Rhea and that Hapi girl. You’ve become quite popular with the ladies, haven’t you!” 

“Shut up, Sothis,” Byleth sent back to the little nuisance before speaking aloud. “Don’t you have a mission of your own to fulfil?” 

“We’ve already accomplished it,” Edelgard replied. “And I already have permission from Professor Manuela to join you if you allow me to.” 

“Thorough,” Byleth nodded. “Very well.” 

Her smile seemed to warm everything up as she nodded. “Excellent. Thank you, my teacher.” 

“Trying to get away from Hubert?” he mused as the duo started up the stairs. 

Edelgard paused for a moment before continuing, a wry smile forming on her lips. “That is part of it, I’m afraid. He has been nagging me nonstop about everything, and I’ve frankly grown weary of his well-intentioned advice.” 

“I don’t blame you,” Byleth shrugged. “I’m oft tempted to just put a spear through his gut.” 

“Please don’t,” Edelgard sighed. “Despite his...quirks, he is still a loyal and important friend to me.” 

“Keep him in line and I won’t kill him,” Byleth suggested, earning another weary sigh. 

The duo walked in silence through the stables to the main gates, where the Blue Lions were waiting alongside the Spartans. They were to meet Catherine outside the monastery grounds and accompany her to the rest of the Church reinforcements advancing on Castle Gaspard, and if Byleth’s hunch was correct, they would be attacked by Lonato en route. 

“Professor!” Dimitri waved at him as the duo strode down towards the markets. “Edelgard? What are you doing here?” 

“I’ve received permission to join you on this mission,” the princess declared, patting the heavy axe hanging from her back. 

“The more the merrier,” Byleth shrugged as his other students gave him questioning looks. “Is everyone here?” 

Right as he asked that question, the absence of Hapi, Constance, and the other two Ashen Wolves was glaring. 

“We’re missing the other four students you’d recruited from this Abyss place,” Ashe spoke up, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. 

Byleth would have to watch the boy closely during this fight. 

“Hey, Shiny!” as if on cue, Hapi emerged from the entrance hall with two men at her side: one tall and impressively muscular while the other was lithe and quite attractive. 

“Oh, this is him? Our, ah, new Professor?” the smaller one mused, sharp intelligence in the eyes roaming over Byleth. “My name is Yuri. I’ve decided to join your class if you allow me access to your lectures like all the other good little rich boys and girls.” 

Byleth nodded. “Of course. As my student, you’ll have access to the monastery grounds and to any of my lectures and training sessions. I’ll be glad to have you both.” 

The other man was frowning as he studied Byleth, his grey jacket parted to show off his toned abs. “You, uh, seem familiar.” 

Byleth shrugged. “You’ve probably seen us around here. You are?” 

“Balthus,” the man grunted. “I’ll be glad to join you, so long as you don’t have me aboveground too much.” 

“Being hunted by someone?” Byleth guessed: he’d seen this furtive behavior in other fugitives that he’d tracked down in the past. 

Balthus frowned again, hesitation in his eyes. “You could say that, yeah. I swear I’ve seen you outside of the monastery.” 

“Balthus von Albrecht?” one of the Spartans said slowly, making the man freeze. “Didn’t we have a contract a while ago from Count Gloucester to track him down?” 

Even Yuri had paused, his hand inching to the sword on his waist. 

Byleth shrugged. “It’s not our contract anymore, so it’s not our problem. We’re employed by the Church and Balthus is now one of my students, and that’s that.” 

“See? I told you Shiny was going to be fine with this!” Hapi jumped in, placing a hand on Byleth’s arm and patting his bicep. 

“Shiny?” Byleth heard Edelgard mutter from behind him. 

He turned his gaze to the brawny man. “If you’d rather stay here in Abyss, that’s perfectly fine. I don’t want you risking yourself if bounty hunters are still pursuing you.” 

Balthus nodded. “Appreciated, Professor. Just, uh, let me know if you see any unsavory types around the monastery looking like they’re trying to find someone.” 

“Will do,” Byleth glanced over at where Hapi was standing at his side. “Constance not coming?” 

The girl shook her head. “No, Coco’s got some, uh, issues with sunlight. She prefers to stay underground during the day.” 

“Let’s go, then. We’ve kept Catherine waiting long enough,” Byleth nodded to the other students. “Move out!” 

Balthus hurried away while Yuri and Hapi joined the company, lingering a bit away from the others as the Spartans formed a protective bronze cordon around the students. 

“So, Yuri, you seem to be a leader,” Byleth matched his pace with the Abyssians, noting how Yuri slightly distanced himself while Hapi did the opposite. “How are things down in Abyss?” 

Yuri glanced at him, guarded curiosity in his gaze. “Trying to become buddies, Professor? It’s going to take more than this to get me to open up to you. Maybe treat me to a little candle-lit dinner, hmm?” 

Byleth swore he heard Edelgard choke from where she was walking ahead of him. 

“I just wanted to know if you needed food or medicine for the people under your watch,” Byleth answered. 

Yuri tapped his chin thoughtfully, setting his jaw at the same time. “We do need some more vulneraries and medicines that bring down fevers. I’ve already used up what we have and several of my people are sick.” 

“I’ll make arrangements for some to be delivered to you,” Byleth said. 

“I...thanks,” Yuri fell silent, his gaze locked ahead as the group advanced through the gates and headed towards the town. 

“So, Shiny,” Hapi nudged him. “What’s up with these other shiny guys? How’d you join them?” 

“They joined my father’s mercenary company when we first found their shipwreck over a decade ago,” Byleth answered. “They trained me ever since I was seven years old.” 

Hapi balked. “Seven? They trained you to fight when you were a kid?” 

“I was in a mercenary company: I had to pull my weight somehow or I’d just be another mouth to feed even if my father was the captain,” Byleth nodded. “I’ve spent my entire life fighting and training to fight.” 

“That’s, uh, kinda scary, Shiny,” Hapi muttered, and he felt her gaze lingering on him. 

“That training brought me here as the Blue Lion’s professor,” Byleth said, turning to face her. “And it gave me the training I needed to protect the people who matter to me on the battlefield.” 

“Your training helps you protect people?” Hapi wondered, her gaze falling to his shield. 

“Spartans train to protect the people standing at our sides just as much as we train to kill our enemies,” Byleth explained, recalling the brutal drills he’d endured for years and years to become the soldier he was today. “Our shields are as much an extension of our bodies as our swords and spears are.” 

“Hey, Professor!” Catherine was waving at him from a plaza with a few soldiers at her side, a grin plastered on her lips. “Good to see you again!” 

“Catherine,” Byleth nodded as she pushed her way into the group to stand at his side. “Your people ready?” 

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, we’re ready. Who’re these two?” 

“Hapi and Yuri, they’re two of the four new additions to the Blue Lions,” Byleth answered. “We’re headed to Magdred Way, are we not?” 

Catherine nodded. “Correct. Castle Gaspard should already be under siege by the rest of the Knights, so all we need to worry about is cleaning up the mess and making sure the townspeople aren’t getting hurt.” 

“Can you tell me more about the situation? About what could have driven Lonato to start a fruitless rebellion?” Byleth saw Ashe tensing. 

Catherine faltered, guilt contorting her face. “Well...what do you know of the Tragedy of Duscur?” 

Dimitri and Dedue tensed instead of Ashe this time. 

“The king was killed by insurgents from Duscur and the Kingdom took revenge by razing the entire nation,” Byleth answered. “I’ve heard quite a bit about it from jobs in Kingdom territory.” 

Catherine nodded. “Well, it wasn’t just some malcontents from Duscur responsible for it. Christophe Gaspard was revealed to have been part of the conspiracy involved with the murder, along with many others. When the Church temporarily took over Kingdom policies in the king’s absence, our doctrine in place called for the execution of those conspirators after we got all the information we could from them. Lonato...never forgave the Church for Christophe’s execution, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say he never forgave the person who handed Christophe over to them.” 

“You,” Byleth remembered Rhea saying that Catherine had turned Christophe in. 

Catherine nodded grimly. “It was years ago and I still can’t get it out of my head...he was my friend, you know. I still wonder if I did the right thing, sometimes.” 

“Come, now, why don’t we talk about something not as depressing!” Podiarches declared. “Do any of you know the story of the Minotaur?” 

“Minotaur?” Annette piped up. “What is that?” 

“Only one of the deadliest monsters to ever walk on Greek soil!” the Spartan announced, his booming voice filling the air. “It all started on the island kingdom of Crete, ruled by King Minos...” 

Podiarches droned on about the ancient legend, but Byleth tuned it out and focused on keeping formation with the other Spartans, letting the rhythmic clanking of their armor and gear dictate his own march. 

Edelgard nudged him after a while. “Is that story true?” 

“I don’t know,” Byleth answered. “I’ve heard it and other Greek legends thousands of times.” 

“It’s quite fascinating. Did that queen truly...mate with a bull?” she asked, faint horror mixing with curiosity on her face. 

“Apparently. I try not to think about how...painful that might have been for her,” Byleth shook his head and saw Edelgard shudder as her hand absently trailed down to her legs. 

“That just sounds awful,” Hapi said from his other side, looking a bit green around the gills. “I feel bad for the Minotaur, though: it was hated the second it was born and thrown into an underground labyrinth to suffer for its entire life.” 

“I would have liked to fight it!” Catherine declared, pumping a fist into the air. “A pity this Theseus guy killed it...Actually, wait, I probably shouldn’t say that.” 

“We’re coming up on Magdred Way!” a Church soldier from Catherine’s party announced, and Byleth’s battle instincts flared as a heavy fog covered everything in sight. 

“This doesn’t feel right,” Edelgard murmured, easing her axe from its harness. 

“Close formation!” Byleth barked in Greek and the Spartans immediately formed a defensive line before the students, shields locked with spears bristling over the tops. “Stay close to me, all of you!” 

Dedue immediately stuck to Dimitri’s side while the others readied for combat, scanning the thick fog for any hint of movement. 

“The enemy is coming!” a bloodstained Church soldier was staggering out of the fog, an arrow protruding from his back. “They used the fog to slip past the knight’s perimeter! They can’t be-” 

A hiss made Byleth’s battle instincts flare, followed by a meaty thunk as another arrow sprouted from the soldier’s neck. He crumpled to the ground, and an eerie silence again filled the forest. 

“Stay down, all of you!” Byleth ordered his students, keeping his shield ready to cover any of them. “Catherine, how do you want to do this?” 

The Knight of Seiros eased Thunderbrand out of its scabbard, the Relic blazing to life in her hands. “We wait until they enter our line of sight, then strike them all down. These are traitors who’ve raised their blades against the Church and the Goddess, Herself. They will not show us mercy and nor should we grant them any.” 

“This fog feels unnatural, like it’s being summoned by magic,” Annette spoke up. “If we can find the mage responsible, we should be able to clear it out.” 

“This is just great,” Hapi muttered at Byleth’s side, shaking her head as Yuri pat her shoulder reassuringly. 

“We’ll be fine, probably.” 

“Does anyone have any torches?” Catherine demanded, but nobody responded. “Damn it!” 

Byleth eased himself to the side, keeping himself between any unseen archer and his students. “Podiarches, any movement from the fog?” 

“I hear them coming,” the old warrior answered. “There’s a lot of them.” 

“Can you hear anything?” Sothis asked, and Byleth strained his ears. 

There! Footsteps and clanking metal in the front of the group, approaching fast. 

“Remember to use my power if you need it, but I cannot wind time too many times!” the girl said. 

“Got it,” Byleth murmured, feeling several eyes falling on him. “Lock shields! Hold position!” 

The Spartans nodded, conical and plumed helmets swaying at the movement. Not even seconds later, dark shapes in blue cuirasses, jerkins, or plate armor stormed out of the fog, weapons raised. 

They’d been smart enough not to yell as they ran, but most of them couldn’t move in complete silence. Bodies slammed into the hoplons, metal skittering against metal and sparks flashed as blades and lances scraped the large shields. 

Spartan spears thrust out into the haze, screams following as cruel leaf-shaped steel heads plunged into flesh or punched through leather with ease. The veteran warriors held their ground, their formation not budging an inch as spears jabbed outwards with deadly proficiency. 

“More coming from the side, Professor!” Dimitri yelled, pointing out with his lance. 

Byleth could see other shapes moving in the fog and hurriedly moved himself into a defensive stance on the flank, presenting himself as the most obvious target. Ingrid and Dimitri stood at his side, lances ready to jab outwards at anyone who got past him while Sylvain and Dedue covered them. 

The only problem here would be Ashe, especially if he knew these people. 

A soldier in a blue cuirass was the first to lunge at Byleth, his lance shattering on the hardened surface of the hoplon with his first strike. Dimitri thrust out with his weapon, plunging the heavy head into the attacker’s gut. 

A swordsman charged Ingrid, yelling as he swung his blade in a brutal two-handed chop, but the aspiring knight handily ducked beneath the swing before slamming her own lance home into his throat. 

The two bodies crumpled and Byleth heard Ingrid take a shaky breath before murmuring to herself. 

“Come on, you can do it! For Glenn!” 

Glenn? Who was Glenn? 

A heavily-armored knight covered head-to-toe in thick plate clanked out of the fog, hefting a heavy axe in addition to his large shield. 

“A lesson for all of you,” he raised his voice to be heard over the din of the melee unfolding by the Spartans. “If you’re facing a heavily-armored opponent like this with a blade or a lance, direct your strikes to the spots that cannot be covered in metal, like the joints. Or, in this case, the throat.” 

He thrust out with his lance, plunging the head right into the gap between the knight’s helmet and his chestplate. The dead weight pressed against his arm and he yanked his spear free, letting the corpse clank to the earth. 

“You seem to know what you’re doing,” Yuri commented as he slipped his blade in between the ribs of another warrior before letting the body slide off. 

“As do you,” Byleth rammed his spear into another assailant’s gut and ripped it out, glancing back at his students. 

Annette was firing off spells at shapes in the fog, her face grim as screams answered successful hits. Mercedes pulled a broken arrow shaft out of Timotheos’s bicep and closed the wound with a gentle incantation, the Spartan nodding his thanks to her before retaking his place in the line. Ashe fired at the soldiers he could see, looking like he was fighting down tears as a man crumpled with an arrow in his chest. Edelgard sheared through another knight’s armor like butter, kicking his body into Felix’s opponent and creating an opening for the boy to exploit. 

“Now you face a Knight of Seiros!” Catherine declared, her soldiers balking as she sprinted into the fog away from the others. 

Byleth glimpsed her Relic flashing as Catherine moved through the fog, carving bright gashes through the haze and the bodies of those who came across her path. 

“She’s Thunder Catherine, after all,” one of the Church soldiers muttered. “Does she even need us?” 

“We need to move!” Byleth shouted as the Spartans put down the remaining attackers. “There shouldn’t be too many trying to get around us but I’d rather not wait for them to attack all at once.” 

“A wise decision, Professor,” Yuri nodded. 

“Hey, Shiny?” Hapi poked his arm, making him look at her. “I think I can feel where this magic is coming from.” 

“Me, too! I can feel a sort of trail through the fog!” Annette called. 

Byleth crouched to cover Hapi with his shield as an arrow hissed out from the fog, missing everyone. “Where is it originating?” 

Hapi opened her mouth to answer, but her voice never came as a stinging pain erupted from Byleth’s right forearm. He bit down a curse and looked down to see the head of an arrow embedded in his vambrace. 

“My teacher! Are you okay!?” Edelgard dropped down to her knees beside him, concern in her eyes as she looked at his injury. 

“Professor?!” 

“I’m fine, just a scratch,” Byleth ripped the arrow out of his armor and tossed it aside, pushing a bit of white magic through to close the scratch opened by the arrowhead. “You were saying, girls?” 

Hapi looked up from his arm and nodded, pointing out to her left, close to where Catherine had run off in. “I can feel it in that direction. It’s not too far.” 

Annette nodded her assent as she ran over. “We can probably track it!” 

Byleth felt an arrow slam into his shield and heard the wooden shaft snap on impact, then saw Ashe fire his bow in response. 

“What’s the plan?” Dimitri asked. 

“Isn’t it obvious, boar?” Felix huffed, bleeding from a cut on his cheek. “We find the mage and kill them, then take out everyone else.” 

“How? We don’t even know where the enemy is or how many of them there are!” Sylvain brought up, scanning the forest. “We could be shot with a volley of arrows before we ever find this mage.” 

“Spartans! Lambda!” Byleth ordered, seeing nods of acknowledgement from his brothers. 

“Lambda?” Annette wondered right as the Spartans spread themselves out into a backwards V shape, covering the sides of the class with their broad shields. 

“Hapi, Annette: you’re behind me,” Byleth joined Timotheos and Podiarches at the head of the formation, sealing it in a wall of bronze. “Everyone else stay close and stay low!” 

He heard shuffling as the students clustered behind the Spartan line, wedging their bodies together in an effort to stay behind the protective barrier of shields and armor. 

“Where to?” Byleth asked, scanning the fog as he heard more fighting and saw the light of Catherine’s sword in the distance. 

“Straight ahead, but angle right,” Hapi ordered. 

“You heard her!” Byleth barked, the Spartans shouting assent. “On me!” 

Almost as one, the formation lugged forward, trudging slowly enough to keep the shields locked but quickly enough to cover ground. 

“Start going right, towards that large shadow,” Annette spoke up, and Byleth saw the shadow she was talking about. 

He could hear people talking, shuffling through thick brush as branches snapped. They were very close. 

Spindly fingers extended from the trees, leaves swaying on their scraggly limbs as they scraped against helmets and shields. Byleth had to duck a few times as the formation entered a thick copse of trees, and he heard a few clangs resulting from branches hitting someone, followed by a muttered curse. A branch snagged his red crest, but he pulled himself free in a shower of leaves and snapped bark. 

“It’s right in front of us, Professor!” Annette declared, her voice tight with tension. 

“Kill the apostates!” an unfamiliar voice ordered, and human forms surged from the mist, screaming. 

“Wait, stop! Stop!” Ashe screamed, shoving his way around the formation to dash towards the oncoming enemies. 

“Ashe! Get back here!” Byleth made to charge after the kid, but the ambushers had skidded to a halt close enough for him to realize something. “Wait a minute: these aren’t soldiers.” 

The people emerging from the brush were obviously civilians: they were dressed in simple clothes with makeshift armor covering a few of them. Two were wearing pots on their heads. They were carrying farm implements, woodcutting axes and a few saws, while the two potheads carried rusty spears. 

“Anders, what are you doing here?” Ashe demanded, speaking at a burly man whose black hair was tied back away from a rough, scarred face and a crooked nose. 

“Ashe? By the Goddess, boy, I could ask you the same question,” the man named Anders was wearing a heavy, stained apron over equally stained clothes, his powerful body rippling with muscles as he hefted a massive hammer in both hands. 

“You know these people?” Byleth asked, scanning the people before him. 

They were all rough people clearly accustomed to hard work, but nothing about them made him think they had any combat experience. 

“Anders is the village’s only blacksmith,” Ashe pointed at the two potheads. “Drex and Sophie are carpenters, and Marcus, over there, is a stonemason. The others are mostly farmers and laborers.” 

“Civilians,” Dimitri realized, his appearance making the militia force balk and drop to their knees. 

“Yer Highness!” one of the farmers stammered. “Forgive us! We didn’t know ye were here!” 

“Forget about me: what are you doing here, rebelling against the Church?” Dimitri asked, his face stern and tight with suppressed emotion. 

“They have every reason to,” Hapi grumbled from behind Byleth. 

“Lonato doesn’t deserve this sadness and anger, none of us do,” Drex the pot-wearing carpenter spoke up, readjusting his ‘helmet’ as everyone got back up to their feet. “The Church has been lying to us, to all of us.” 

“And your response was to take up arms with Lonato? You’re not soldiers,” Byleth kept a close eye on these civilians, scanning the fog for the mage conjuring it up. “Do you have a death wish?” 

“We’re not just going to lie down and let your type walk all over us,” another growled. 

“Professor, please don’t kill them!” Ashe begged, turning back to Byleth. “Please! The village needs them! Anders is our only blacksmith and Drex and Sophie are our only carpenters! They don’t have apprentices!” 

“I don’t murder civilians,” Byleth said, sizing up the massive Anders. “This would not be a fair fight, not against my students and the Spartans.” 

“I dunno, Byleth, that Anders’s hammer looks pretty nasty,” Timotheos muttered. “He’d probably smash our shields in with a single blow.” 

“Are you just going to let us walk away?” Anders asked, raising a bushy eyebrow. “We’ve taken up arms against your precious Central Church.” 

“Your village, your friends, and your families need you,” Byleth relaxed his stance and straightened, planting his spear into the ground. “Leave, now, and nobody will ever be the wiser that you were involved in this unless one of you or the villagers says anything.” 

“Go, please,” Dimitri pleaded. “Before any of the Church soldiers finds you. They have orders to execute anyone working with Lonato and will not hesitate to kill any of you.” 

The villagers shared an uncertain, fearful look with one another. 

“He’s right,” the stonemason sighed, lowering the hammer he was holding. “I’m no soldier an’ me wife’s heavy with child. I...I shouldn’t be here.” 

The others looked at Anders, the massive blacksmith apparently serving as their leader for the time being. 

“You won’t tell anyone we were here?” he rumbled, his grip on the hammer never relenting. 

“Not a soul, I swear it!” Ashe blurted. “Please, return home!” 

The blacksmith sighed and lowered his weapon. “Let’s get out of here, before the Central Church soldiers find us.” 

“Wait! Are my brother and sister okay?” Ashe asked, staring at Anders as the man nodded. 

“They’re fine, lad: they’re staying at the inn while the knights lay siege to the castle.” 

Part of the weight on the boy’s shoulders lifted. “Thanks, Anders.” 

“Stay safe, Ashe,” The villagers shuffled off, vanishing into the fog just as another figure in robes stormed out of the fog, a beak-like mask covering his face. 

“Bah! Cowards, the lot of them!” his muffled voice spat, an orb of dark energy crackling to life in his palm. “I’ll not let you anywhere near Lord Lonato!” 

“That’s him! The one conjuring the fog!” Annette yelled, and Byleth readied his spear. 

“You’re mine!” Catherine’s voice punctured the haze, the crackling Thunderbrand slashing through the mage with sickening ease. 

The mage fell, sparks guttering out from his hands, and the fog immediately lifted. 

Sunlight filled the path, revealing scores of bodies from both the Church and Lonato’s forces heaped on the ground. 

“Ha! I found him!” Catherine laughed, studying the Spartan formation. “Looks like you guys took a beating.” 

“We’ve taken far worse,” Byleth grunted, gazing out the way she’d come to find scores of blue soldiers emerging from some ruins to the northeast, an old man on horseback at their lead. 

“You! Thunderstrike Cassandra!” the old man roared, raising a gleaming silver lance and aiming its triangular head at Catherine. “It was your wretched zealotry that killed my son! I will be the one to kill you! I and no other!” 

“The only name I answer to is Catherine!” the swordmaster yelled back, raising her blazing Relic. “Time for you to taste the blade of one who serves the Goddess!” 

“Lonato!” Ashe again broke formation to dash forward, halting as the old man’s soldiers raised their weapons in response. “Why are you doing this?! Stop this, please!” 

“Ashe, my boy...I cannot. If you would serve that filthy witch, then I will pass the Goddess’s judgement upon you as well. Stand aside, and I will not hurt you,” the old knight’s pained look was plain to see, but so was his determination. 

“Guard our flank,” Byleth spoke to the Spartans, who grunted assent. “I don’t know how many of them are hiding in that forest and I don’t want to be hit by an ambush.” 

“Can we not just leave?” Hapi poked his arm again. “I mean, I get that we have a job to do, but this guy has every right to hate the Church.” 

“Sorry, Hapi, but I get the feeling we’re stuck here,” Yuri drawled, his eyes steely as he took in the large number of advancing blue soldiers. “And they don’t seem keen on letting us walk away.” 

“We cannot leave,” Edelgard agreed, her eyes steely as she hefted her bloodstained axe. “Your orders, my teacher?” 

“Whittle their numbers a bit,” Byleth answered. “Annette, Mercedes, Ashe, Hapi: fire at will. Aim for their heavy troops and mages if you can.” 

“If you say so,” Hapi muttered, dark energy shooting from her fingers and exploding as it hit a small group of soldiers. 

Light, wind, and arrows followed her attack, bodies dropping as explosions lit up their lines. Byleth stuck close to the students as they continued firing, noting that Dedue had taken a huge shield from a fallen knight. 

Byleth stood alone at the front of the class, crouching and letting his spear poke around the side of his hoplon rather than resting on the upper rim. It would put more favor on his shield rather than the spear, itself, but it would allow him more mobility. 

Spells and arrows continued streaming towards the scores of enemies rushing towards the class, a particularly large blade of horizontal wind cutting down an entire line of lighter soldiers. 

“Good shot, Annette,” he called over to the mage. 

“Thanks, Professor!” came her enthusiastic reply. 

She seemed to be taking the fighting a bit easier than before, especially after her near-death experience in the Red Canyon. 

Edelgard and Dimitri strode up to his sides, readying their weapons as the other students extended their line. Lances, axes and swords bristled from the students, all eyes fixed on the surviving rebels racing towards their line. 

Everything was going smoothly so far, and Byleth hadn’t needed to rewind time to save someone’s life. He hoped he wouldn’t need to. 

An impact slammed into his helmet, rattling his vision and making him flinch. 

“Hey! You leave him alone!” Hapi’s angry cry was followed by a dark orb streaking towards the archer taking aim at Byleth. 

“Professor? Are you okay?” Dimitri asked, concern in his eyes as Byleth waited for his vision to clear from the impact. 

“I’ve taken worse. Just focus on the enemy,” he shook his head. 

“Sorry, Shiny: I’m out of spells,” Hapi’s embarrassed voice came from behind. 

“Just stay close to me, alright?” Byleth watched the enemy get closer and closer, spreading out to encircle the class. 

The forest was silent, nothing moving from within save for some birds. Perhaps it would be wise to shift the Spartan phalanx from that front to counter the larger force of rebels bearing down on their line. 

“Swing out! Shields locked!” Podiarches had the same thought, it would seem: on his order, the phalanx swung out from the flank to extend the Blue Lion’s line. 

“Now! Counter-charge!” Byleth stormed towards the onrushing soldiers, his students sprinting forward at his side. 

The rebels balked, clearly not expecting the Blue Lions to be so aggressive, and they faltered as the students slammed into them. Byleth rammed shield-first into a soldier, ramming his spear into the woman’s gut before pulling the weapon free and thrusting its bloodstained head into another. 

His students crashed into combat around him, filling the air with shouting and clashing metal. An arrow whizzed overhead, dropping a rebel, and Byleth took a moment to look around. 

The kids were fighting well, holding their ground as they outdueled their opponents and cut them down, moving on with grim expressions on their faces. Edelgard and Dimitri were forces of nature: the duo were shredding everyone challenging them, their weapons carving lines of death that none could pass alive. 

Byleth lifted his shield to take a blow from a sword and thrust his spear into his attacker, then kicked her body to the ground before moving onto the next opponent, settling into the harsh rhythm of combat. 

“Mercie, watch out!” Annette’s scream made him jerk his head back, a cold dread filling the back of his skull at the sight of the gentle healer scrambling away from a rebel swordsman. 

Byleth slammed his spear home in his current foe and then reversed his grip on the weapon, readying to throw it. An arrow sprouted from the rebel’s neck, making him crumple at Mercedes’s feet. 

“Oh, goodness! Thank you, Ashe!” the healer sighed, placing a hand over her heart. 

Byleth looked over at the boy just in time to watch a rebel soldier ram his lance into Ashe’s back. 

“Sothis!” Byleth felt her power surge into him and the dark void of time silenced the world. 

He lingered in this void, feeling everything bend and warp around him, and then the world snapped back into focus. 

Byleth spun towards Ashe the second the boy launched his arrow at Mercedes’s attacker, his spear raised and ready to throw. “Ashe, dive to the side now!” 

The boy dove immediately, leaving his startled would-be killer wide open for Byleth’s spear to punch into his chest. The rebel pitched backwards, impaled on the spear now biting into the earth as it pierced all the way through to his back. 

“Move, move!” Byleth unsheathed his heavy kopis and turned back to the battle after ensuring that his kids were safe. “Everyone stay together!” 

Ingrid and Sylvain were side-by-side, spearing their enemies with fierce proficiency that spoke of their close bond as they covered each other with ease. Felix stood off to the side of them, cutting through a rebel with a brutal slice as his Crest flared before cutting the throat of another and moving on to face a third. 

Yuri was dancing around his enemy, almost too fast to see as he rained a flurry of blows on the poor sap before gracefully cutting him down. The boy winked at Byleth before raising his sword to catch a blow from another rebel. 

Byleth deflected a lance thrust from a rebel soldier with his shield and slashed his sword’s wide and heavy blade across his opponent’s throat. The man gagged, dropping his weapon to clutch at the red line gushing from his flesh. 

Just another corpse to add to all the others. 

Byleth took another look around and saw several surviving rebels breaking away from the skirmish, several limping or dripping blood from wounds. Out of over a dozen or so who’d attacked, only five had the ability to retreat. 

Good. 

Lonato had maybe five others in fighting shape around him, all of them looking grim but determined to fight to the bitter end as their injured allies dove into the brush and crashed through the vegetation. 

“Do we leave any survivors?” Byleth asked Catherine as she strode over, wiping off her bloody sword on a fallen knight’s tunic. 

“They will be executed nonetheless, so unless you want to risk your students’ lives trying to capture someone, I say no,” the Knight of Seiros snarled, her fist clenched tightly around her weapon’s hilt. “Let the others run: there’s nowhere for them to go.” 

“Your Highness, I regret that we had to meet in such unfortunate circumstances!” Lonato called over, lifting his lance in salute. “If only we had met anywhere else, but I am afraid that there is no further recourse.” 

Dimitri stepped forward, Dedue covering him with his taken shield. “Lord Lonato, I share your regret and apologize for the wrongs that were committed against you and Christophe. My words cannot change anything, I know, but I wanted you to know that I will not shame you this day.” 

“He has shamed himself by betraying the Church, betraying the Goddess and betraying Lady Rhea,” Catherine spat, striding forward. 

“Catherine, hold,” Byleth moved up to join Dimitri and Dedue, ready to throw himself in between harm and his student. 

“Silence, heathen!” Lonato spat, rage blazing from his eyes as he pointed his lance at Catherine. “I will get vengeance on you and that filthy witch who lords over all of Fodlan with an iron fist!” 

“Don’t you dare insult Lady Rhea, you bastard!” the Knight of Seiros roared. “I’ll kill you for that!” 

Oh, for the love of Zeus. 

“That pretender insults the Goddess by masquerading as a faithful follower!” Lonato shouted back. “Your deluded Central Church is nothing more than a tyranny!” 

“The entire Church is nothing but a bunch of hypocritical jerks and liars,” Hapi said behind the group, earning a scathing glare from Catherine and a disapproving raised eyebrow from Mercedes. “Rhea included.” 

“You speak ill of Lady Rhea again and you’re next,” Catherine warned, leveling Thunderbrand at the girl. “I don’t care if you’re a new member of the Blue Lions: I know who you are and you’re still a threat to everyone here. If I have to kill you, I will.” 

Byleth swung his kopis as hard as he could, smacking the Relic from Catherine’s hand and making her recoil as the weapon hit the earth. “Threaten Hapi again and you’ll have me to contend with. You will not attack my students.” 

He dug his foot under Thunderbrand and kicked the weapon up, Catherine snatching it as she glared daggers at him. 

“I don’t know what Lady Rhea sees in you, but I sure as hell am not going to let you present any sort of threat to her,” the Knight sized him up, glaring right into his visor as she bared her teeth in a snarl. “I don’t care if you’re a Professor: I will kill you without hesitation.” 

“Try it, wretch,” she glanced over her shoulder and had nine Spartan spears thrust into her face, the veteran soldiers having encircled the duo when she was threatening Byleth. “You can’t kill all of us.” 

Byleth exhaled slowly, wondering if he should reverse time to prevent this nonsense from happening when Catherine sighed and stepped away from him, lowering Thunderbrand. 

“Professor, Catherine: that’s enough!” Dimitri snapped. 

“Any bets? My money’s on the Professor,” Yuri muttered from behind, grunting as Ingrid slammed an elbow into his gut. “I was joking!” 

Byleth turned his back on Catherine and strode towards Lonato, who was warily watching the group’s bickering. 

“Professor?” Dimitri faltered as Byleth walked past him. 

Let’s get this debacle over with. 

“Protect Lord Lonato!” the five uninjured rebels charged all at once, waving swords and lances. 

Byleth took several of their blows on his shield and cut down one man with a single swing of his kopis, then rammed into the man in front of him and knocked him to the ground. A blade scraped against his back and Byleth spun, running his blade against his attacker’s throat while lifting his shield to deflect another lance. 

He whirled and slammed the hoplon’s face against the fourth assailant’s torso, metal creaking and groaning as the poor bastard slammed onto the ground, gasping for the breath that had been wrenched from his lungs. The fifth rebel jabbed at him with her lance, and Byleth let the weapon pass between his right arm and his torso before pinning it with his arm, then lifted his foot and slammed it into her chest. 

She fell onto her back with a pained cry and Byleth crouched over the other two fallen rebels, slamming the full weight of the hoplon on one’s throat while thrusting his sword into the other to end their suffering. He transferred the kopis to its sheathe and let the lance caught between his arm and torso fall into his hand, holding the butt upright as he jammed the steel head into the chest of its former owner. 

“Damn, he’s terrifying,” Hapi murmured. 

“And impressive,” Felix added. “I will make myself stronger than him one day, I swear it.” 

“Professor...” Mercedes murmured, her voice almost lost to the rustling trees. 

“I recognize you now: The Bronze Demon,” Lonato rumbled as his mount pawed at the earth. “If you will stand in my way, then I will strike you down as any other!” 

“Lonato, wait!” Ashe begged as the lord spurred his mount into a charge. “Stop, please!” 

Byleth moved away from his kill and crouched, holding his shield up between himself and the lord thundering towards him. That gleaming lance extended out towards him, seeking his body, and Byleth waited until the last possible moment to reach out and grab the gleaming shaft of the weapon. 

He was almost pulled off of his feet by the sheer momentum of the weapon and its rider as the mount thundered past, but he dug his heels in and pulled as hard as he could with his screaming arm, slamming his shield’s rim into Lonato’s leg as he did. 

The lord bellowed and pitched from the saddle, his feet being yanked from their stirrups and his armored body slamming into the ground as his horse cantered away, confused and riderless. Byleth’s hand burned from the weapon he now held in his grasp and his arm ached with a dull agony, but he ignored it and strode over to the fallen Lonato, rolling him onto his back with his foot. 

“Christophe...” the old man gasped, trying to gulp down air. “F-forgive...me...” 

Byleth stood over the man, threatening his vitals with his claimed lance, then glanced over at Ashe. The boy’s face was the color of his namesake, his eyes wide and wet with unshed tears as he clenched his fists. 

“I really don’t want to do this,” Byleth told the old lord, his voice carrying well in the tense silence. “But it’s either me or a public execution from the Church. You fought well, Lord Lonato, so I will give you an honorable death. Give my regards to your son.” 

He thrust downwards, ending the lord’s gasping breaths. Byleth pulled the lance from the corpse and tossed the weapon aside, then turned back to his grim-faced students and strode over to them. 

Poor Ashe looked like he was going to be sick as he stared at the body of the man who’d adopted him and sent him to the Academy. 

“I am truly sorry, Ashe,” Byleth felt a twinge of...something rather unpleasant inside of his chest, like a cold dead weight that didn’t want to release him. 

“I...” the boy shook his head and turned away. “I’m going to check on the village and my siblings.” 

“This isn’t over, Professor,” Catherine warned even though she sheathed her blade. “When we get back to the Monastery, you will answer for your behavior.” 

Byleth turned to glare at her, the feeling he recognized as annoyance burning through him. “For what, exactly? For defending my student after you threatened her? For disarming you when you pointed your blade at her? I acted in defense of those under my care, nothing more.” 

He strode back to his students, noting how Edelgard was studying him with no small amount of respect gleaming in her pale violet irises. 

“Is anyone injured?” he asked, but nobody answered him. “No? Then we make for the Monastery once Ashe returns. For now, we rest and recover.” 

“We’ll go through the dead, make sure nobody else is waiting to attack us,” Podiarches rumbled, the Spartans splitting up into groups as they trudged away to scour the battlefield. 

Byleth nodded and looked back at his students as they sat down on the grass or on fallen logs, several of them breathing heavily or lowering weapons. 

“Man, I’m beat!” Sylvain groaned, massaging his arm. 

“Then I’ll have much more training to put you through if this battle exhausted you,” Byleth grunted. “I’ll make soldiers out of you yet.” 

Edelgard strode over to him, planting the head of her axe upon the ground and resting her hand on its butt. “You were very impressive, my teacher. I can tell you’ve spent your entire life fighting.” 

“You were holding your own quite well, Edelgard,” Byleth nodded, studying her cool expression. “Was it worth coming with us?” 

A wry smile formed on her lips. “It was quite instructive, yes. I thank you for allowing me the chance to fight at your side, my teacher. You know, I would like to spend more time with you if you’d allow it.” 

“I think I would like that,” Byleth nodded, his gaze swiveling to Catherine as the knight approached, fiddling with her sword belt. 

“Hey, uh, Professor?” she mumbled, rubbing the back of her head. “I, uh, I wanted to apologize to you. I was in the wrong: I was acting rash and out of line when I threatened your student. I just get...angry when people talk ill of Lady Rhea and it makes me lash out.” 

“Don’t do it again,” was all Byleth said as he offered her a hand. “Good work out there.” 

Catherine nodded as she gripped the offered limb before releasing him and going over to Lonato’s body, kneeling beside it and rummaging through the dead man’s pockets. 

“You should rest as well, my teacher,” Edelgard suggested, running a hand through her white hair. “You fought harder than the entire class.” 

“Just another day on the battlefield,” Byleth responded, his gaze roaming over his students. “I’m used to it and they’re not, so I have my work cut out for me if I’m going to turn them into soldiers.” 

Edelgard tapped her chin thoughtfully. “So you say. What do you plan to do when this academic year ends, my teacher?” 

“I don’t know, if I’m being honest. I’m just a soldier, so I will likely just go wherever I’m ordered with the rest of Blade Breaker Company, if Lady Rhea lets us go,” Byleth wasn’t sure what to think of the Archbishop, aside from how she made every survival instinct he had flare full force whenever they were together. 

Just for a moment, Edelgard’s face hardened into something akin to rage before smoothing back out into a cool, calculating mask. “If you ever do leave the monastery, you will always be welcome in the Empire. I would be glad to see you even when we are no longer teacher and student.” 

“I would enjoy seeing you as well,” Byleth said. 

Edelgard smiled at him, her cheeks coloring a bit at the words. “You know, Ferdinand has an extra tea set that he’s been telling me he wants to give to someone. Would you care for it? We could have tea together, if you’d like.” 

“How ambitious!” Sothis crowed from within, her smile evident in her voice. “Is she that interested in you?” 

Byleth ignored her. “I would. It would be nice to spend some one-on-one time with you if that sounds agreeable to you, Edelgard.” 

“I would like that very much, my teacher,” Edelgard gave him another small but genuine smile, her eyes lighting up at his acceptance. “I’m going to rest up before our march, and I suggest you do the same. Take care of yourself.” 

She walked away and leaned against a tree, staring at the battlefield as groups of Spartans moved about the bodies, spearing the fallen rebels to ensure that they were dead. 

“Hey, Shiny?” Hapi strode up to him next, her eyes clouded with concern. 

“Hapi. Are you well?” Byleth studied her, relief filling him at the lack of wounds on her body. 

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine, I’m good,” she nodded, turning her head to glance at Catherine, who was currently reading a scroll. “I, um...thank you, for standing up for me.” 

“Of course. I wasn’t going to let her threaten you, not as long as you’re my student,” Byleth answered, noting how her face fell just for a moment. “Besides: you’re important to me and I wish to protect you.” 

She took half a step back, her mouth opening and closing in imitation of a fish’s as her voice caught in her throat. “Um...I...” 

“Go and rest, Hapi,” he said reached out and lightly squeezed her shoulder. “You did well in the battle. I am glad that you are unharmed.” 

Something about her was...endearing, he thought the term was. 

“You take time to rest, too, okay?” she nodded towards a wide, mostly flat rock jutting out of the ground. “Come on, sit with me.” 

She grabbed his hand and tugged him after her, guiding him over to the rock as she sat down upon it. Byleth seated himself next to her, the stone warm against his body as he set his shield against the earth. 

Hapi sighed and stretched her arms, glancing over at him as she did. “Come on, say something, Chatterbox.” 

“Chatterbox? I thought I was Shiny?” Byleth felt his lips curve at the name regardless. 

“You’re both,” Hapi shrugged, grinning at him. “So, uh, when are you going to invite me to tea?” 

Byleth felt a chuckle escape him. “I was going to start inviting as many of the others as I can, take the opportunity to get some one-on-one time with everyone. What kind of tea would you prefer? Something sweet?” 

“You got it,” she nodded, studying him. “Am I going to have to do that torture you call training, too?” 

“I’d prefer if you did, if only so I can teach you to fight without magic for when you run out of spells again,” Byleth nodded, concern filling him as he swore he saw some of Hapi’s soul leave her body. 

“Professor!” Catherine ran over, concern on her face as she held up the scroll she’d taken from Lonato. “We need to get back to the monastery as soon as possible: this scroll details a plot to assassinate Lady Rhea.” 

Byleth pushed himself up to his feet. “Looks like relaxation time is over. Let’s get Ashe and move!” 

The students groaned and began to push their weary bodies up, leaning on their weapons as they did. 

“Am I invited to these tea parties of yours, too?” Sothis asked. 


	10. A Lesson in Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to be true to Dimitri's character here and I wanted to add a conflict of ideals between the Church and Byleth/the Spartans without making anyone act too much out of character. Feel free to leave any criticisms in regards to the situation or characters, since I know this is something very different from the game's story.

Dimitri was sure of a few things in his life, such as: he was the Crown Prince of a Kingdom slowly tearing itself apart since his father’s death; he would find a way to make amends for Duscur and give that dead land new life; and that his new Professor terrified him. 

The emotionless soldier was a mystery to everyone in the Blue Lion House, though none dared to speak of it unless they were certain the man in question was nowhere near them. Their lessons were difficult, but the Professor was reciting them directly from the book and it was beyond simple to keep up. He’d stumbled at first, during the first couple of weeks, in regards to planning and enacting the lectures, but Dimitri and Annette had quickly helped the slightly older man amend his errors and get the lessons back on track. 

The training, on the other hand, was absolutely brutal and unforgiving. They would spend hours being pushed to their physical limits either on the training grounds or elsewhere on the monastery’s property under the watchful eyes and fists of the Spartan mercenaries. The old soldiers were merciless, as was Professor Eisner, himself, but Dimitri did admit that he admired how the Professor would tend to the battered and exhausted students with his unusually potent white magic before he would even let them leave. 

Dimitri’s Crest-enhanced strength made the training a bit easier sometimes, but even he was pushed to the brink. 

The dark, empty stare of the soldier-turned-professor would pierce everyone during both lectures and training, his bland monotone voice filling their ears as it recited lessons or barked commands. 

Professor Eisner was strict but fair, stern but caring in regards to the wellbeing of the Lions, but his ferocity on the battlefield was...terrifying. Dimitri had seen twice now how the soldier could sweep through entire groups of enemies, cutting men and women down like stalks of wheat with spear, blade, and even his shield. 

Dimitri had feared that his Professor would be little more than a killing machine, giving no thought to those who fell beneath its blade as it moved from kill to kill, leaving corpses in its wake. The battle at Magred Way eased those concerns a bit, given the Professor’s outright refusal to kill those civilians, but the merciless way he’d executed Lonato had still sent chills up Dimitri’s spine. 

The only thing Dimitri found forgivable was that this brutal training was making him even stronger than he’d thought possible, drawing his dream of revenge even closer to his grasp. He’d come to this monastery for one reason: to find the one responsible for Duscur and destroy them at all costs. 

“Your Highness, the lesson is about to start,” Dedue’s deep baritone snapped Dimitri from the haze of his thoughts, returning him to the classroom and the materials spread neatly out before him. 

Dimitri looked up from the full inkwell, the blank notebooks and thick tome to see Professor Eisner standing behind his desk, bronze armor gleaming brightly in the light coming from the window behind him. 

Those depthless eyes bore into Dimitri’s very soul, darker than any other color he’d ever seen. He’d grown used to watching people in the political battlefield that was court life as he’d grown up, reading their faces and trying to suss out what lay behind their carefully crafted masks, false smiles, and eyes twinkling with empty warmth. Dimitri could tell when someone was hiding their emotions, forcing something down to don a mask they deemed more suitable for whomever it was meant to fool, but the soldier standing behind the desk was completely different. 

Nothing was hidden, behind a mask or the bronze helmet that rarely seemed to leave the Professor’s head. Nothing was there, emotions or otherwise, and Dimitri found his mouth turning dry under the scrutiny of the soldier. 

“Is everyone ready?” Byleth spoke, his empty voice drawing a chill up Dimitri’s spine that he hurried to suppress. 

“Yes, Professor!” Annette chimed for everyone present, and Dimitri tried to draw inspiration from her ever-present enthusiasm to fuel his own drive. 

“Aye aye, Professor Chatterbox,” came the voice of Hapi, and Dimitri turned his head to glance at the Ashen Wolf from his peripheral vision. 

The Abyssians had been a curious bunch from the moment they’d set foot in the classroom, sitting in the shadows of the back of the room, but Dimitri had noticed that each day since their appearance in the class, Hapi changed seats. The first couple days had been subtle: merely shifting to a different seat in the same row, enough that Dimitri thought he’d been imagining it, but then she moved up a row and then another, as if inching her way closer to the front and to the Professor. 

She never claimed someone else’s seat, but kept to the many empty ones that his class didn’t use given their small number, and the Professor either didn’t notice or didn’t care. 

At the moment, Hapi was sitting next to Ashe, drumming her fingers against her open notebook while they waited for Professor Eisner to begin. 

“Good. This week’s topic is going to be on building rapport with the soldiers under your command...” 

Byleth’s droning voice continued on and Dimitri paid as much attention as he could, scribbling down notes whenever possible, and he lost track of how much time had passed when a hubbub from outside made the lecture slow to a halt. 

It sounded like a lot of people were moving around, trampling the lawn outside the classroom and barking orders. 

“Professor Eisner! Get out here, now!” a voice bellowed. 

Dimitri turned to look at his professor, who had traded his own lecture notes for the spear and shield that he went everywhere with. Dimitri caught a glimpse of that unusual heavy curved sword his professor favored as well as the soldier moved up the aisles. 

“Stay seated. Balthus, Yuri, Constance: get away from the door,” he ordered, keeping his shield out before him as he approached the heavy oaken double doors, shoving them open. 

Dimitri leaned out as far as he could, and what he saw almost made him lean too far and tip his chair over. 

“What in the name of the Goddess?” 

Several Knights of Seiros were standing on the lawn, towering over people who had been forced to their knees in front of the classrooms. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Professor Eisner demanded. “Who are these people?” 

Dimitri stood, making the wooden chair legs scrape against stone, and moved to get a better look at what was unfolding. The moment he saw a familiar large figure on the ground, his blood turned colder than a Faerghus winter. 

“You know full well who these traitors are, Professor,” Lady Rhea’s voice came from somewhere out of sight. “You were the one who let them go, after all. Thankfully, however, one of their former neighbors proved their devotion to our Goddess by revealing their treachery to the Knights.” 

It was the militia from Magdred Way, the civilians that Professor Eisner had let go after he and Ashe had talked them down days ago. The man that Dimitri had immediately recognized had been that massive blacksmith, the man that Ashe had called Anders. 

“Lady Rhea, what is the purpose of this?” Professor Eisner asked, his helmet swiveling as he glanced back at his students. 

The Abyssians inched away from the doors, but Dimitri strode even closer with Dedue at his side. 

“What do we do, Your Highness?” the giant man asked, his eyes hard. 

“Anders! Everyone!” Ashe tried to run out, but Sylvain and Ingrid grabbed him. 

“Don’t, Ashe!” 

“You’ll only get yourself hurt!” 

Professor Eisner had lowered himself into his familiar battle stance: spreading his legs for balance while holding his shield out to cover himself while his spear bristled over the top, muscular body coiled tight like a spring. 

“My dearest Professor, I understand that you are not wholly familiar with the doctrines of the Church of Seiros, but there is one thing that will absolutely not be tolerated,” Lady Rhea’s normally warm and welcoming voice was cold and calculating; the tone of one dispensing judgement. “That is open rebellion against the Church. To point a blade at us is to point a blade at the heavens; at Goddess Sothis, herself.” 

Byleth faltered, but quickly recovered, and Dimitri found himself curious as to why his professor had reacted that way to the true name of the Goddess. 

“Sothis? What in Hades?” his voice was just barely audible before he raised it. “Lady Rhea, these people are civilians, not soldiers. That man there is his village’s only blacksmith, and those two are carpenters.” 

“It does not excuse them of their sins, Professor,” Rhea retorted, the finality in her voice making Dimitri clench his fists. “If we take pity on them because they aren’t soldiers, then others will rise up in the future. The judgement of the Goddess is swift and indiscriminate.” 

Byleth inched his way out of the classroom, but continued to block the door with his bronze-covered body. “They walked away. When we encountered them on the battlefield, we talked them out of their foolish crusade against you.” 

Catherine entered Dimitri’s field of view, her Relic pulsating brightly as she lazily paced before the kneeling civilians, her sharp blue eyes never once leaving the Professor. 

“I hope one day you will become as devoted to the Church as I, my dearest Byleth,” Rhea switched to his name, perhaps trying to encourage him to cease resisting. “And your words will change to ‘us’ rather than ‘you’.” 

“Don’t waste your breath, soldier boy,” Anders the blacksmith groaned, sporting bruises all over his rough face. “This witch isn’t going to liste-” 

Catherine cut the man’s words off, quite literally, when she raked Thunderbrand across his throat, reducing his voice to an agonized gurgle. The other civilians screamed, their voices followed by jeers from a crowd Dimitri could not see. 

“Traitor!” 

“That’s what you get, apostate!” 

“Death to the heretics!” 

“Anders!” Ashe screamed, the pure anguish in his voice making Dimitri wince as he watched the poor man topple forward and choke on blood gushing onto the grass. “Anders!” 

“Well done, Catherine,” Rhea’s voice followed, colder than even the bitterest of the Kingdom’s winters. 

Catherine nodded to the woman still beyond Dimitri’s sight. “I will not have traitors and heretics slandering your name, Lady Rhea.” 

“Stop! Please!” Dimitri couldn’t hold his tongue anymore, but the Professor blocked him when he tried to shove his way out of the classroom. “Lady Rhea, I beg of you to stop! These people aren’t soldiers or criminals! They were being led astray by Lonato!” 

“Prince Dimitri,” the elegant figure of the Archbishop cruised into sight, her voluminous robes making her appear as a ghost with a face that may as well be chiseled from granite as she looked over the Blue Lions. “I understand that these are your people, but they have committed too grave a sin to forgive. They were your enemies on the battlefield, were they not? What would you have done if they did not listen to you? If they’d killed one of your classmates?” 

Dimitri’s breath caught in his lungs. “I...” 

Rhea’s beautiful face softened just slightly. “I know you are trying to follow in your father’s footsteps, to be a man worthy of being called a king, and I will support you with everything I have when that day comes, but there are harsh lessons that you must learn.” 

“W-wait! I beg of ye!” one of the militia croaked out. “Me wife’s heavy with child! I need t’ support her and me unborn son! Please! I’ll do whatever ye ask of me!” 

The sheer desperation in the man’s voice cracked Dimitri’s heart, and he was about to step forward and attempt to bargain with Rhea when another voice muttered behind him. 

“Do you really think these high and mighty Church bastards care about you or your family? You either lick their boots or they kill you.” 

It was soft, perhaps too soft to hear outside the classroom, but Rhea honed in on the girl who’d spoken. 

“Hapi. Mind your tongue, girl, or you will face judgement as well,” the Archbishop growled. 

Byleth inched forward again, and Catherine strode up to him, her eyes filled with murder. 

“Professor. I only apologized to you the other day because Lady Rhea asked me to get along with you and because I respect your strength,” the Knight snarled. “If you or your students present a threat to Lady Rhea, you’re dead.” 

Dimitri swallowed a lump that formed in his throat again. “Catherine, please, we have no intention of harming Lady Rhea. We’re just trying to talk.” 

Byleth met the Knight of Seiros’s gaze without flinching-Dimitri doubted the man ever felt fear-and then lowered his spear. 

“That’s it,” Catherine nodded approvingly, the tense stances of the other Knights of Seiros relaxing slightly. 

Rhea smiled, her eyes fixated on the mercenary as she interlaced her fingers before her torso. “I thank you for understanding this, Byleth. Now, execute these traitors!” 

“Wait, please!” Dimitri tried to go around Professor Eisner, only to freeze as Thunderbrand’s blade was lifted to his throat. 

“If any of the Blue Lions interfere, kill them,” Rhea ordered. 

Dedue hauled Dimitri back and placed himself in between Dimitri and Catherine. 

“We can’t just let them die!” Dimitri protested. 

“Dimitri, don’t,” Catherine warned. 

Professor Eisner rapped his spear against his shield, making a sharp, loud clang that echoed through the Monastery. He rapped it twice, thrice, then a fourth and final time before retaking his battle stance. 

“What is that? What are you doing?” Catherine demanded. “Professor?!” 

A rough voice shouted in the language of the Spartans-Greek, Dimitri thought it was called-and he could hear several of the foreign soldiers rushing towards them. 

“Byleth! What’s going on?!” Podiarches yelled. 

“Stop them!” Catherine ordered. “Don’t let them near Lady Rhea!” 

Several white-armored Knights of Seiros drew their weapons and moved to intercept the Spartans, leaving Dimitri’s sight as they moved beyond the open doorway of the classroom. Seconds later, there was a violent crash of metal on metal, and Dimitri could imagine white-armored bodies falling as spears punched through them. 

“Eisner!” Catherine whirled on the Professor and swung Thunderbrand in a swift, crackling arc at his neck. 

The Professor ducked, his red horsehair plumes being sheared off at the top, and then he jammed his spear into Catherine’s side, making the Knight roar in pain. 

“Professor!” Dimitri tried to move again but Dedue held him fast. 

Catherine jumped back, clutching at the wound while she tried to slash at Byleth with her other hand. He lifted his spear and jammed its leaf-shaped head into the underside of her weapon-holding forearm, making her curse and drop her sword. She swore again, the fingers clutching the wound immediately turning red as crimson dropped to the lawn from both her wounds. 

“Stop! Please!” Mercedes begged from behind. 

“Lady Catherine!” a Knight lunged at Professor Eisner as Catherine fell back, swinging his lance at the Spartan warrior. 

The Professor dropped down lower and the Knight slammed into his large shield, the momentum carrying him over the professor’s shoulder before he was thrown onto the classroom floor. 

The Knight groaned before slumping onto the floor, dazed. 

“Execute the traitors!” Rhea ordered, and Dimitri’s heart lurched as he looked up to see the remaining Knights of Seiros raise their weapons. 

“No, please!” 

“To hells with you, Central Church bastards!” 

“My ancestors are smiling at me, dogs of the apostate! Can you say the same?!” 

Three of the Knights dropped as spears slammed into their chests with heavy impacts, but the others slammed their weapons home into the militia. 

The three who hadn’t been executed tried to crawl away as the Knights advanced towards them, and four Spartans stampeded into sight, roaring as they plowed their heavily armored bodies into the Knights. Three of the older soldiers were missing their spears, which were currently embedded in the dead Knights, and were swinging their vicious curved blades instead. 

Dimitri recognized Podiarches as the lone Spartan who, aside from Professor Eisner, still had his spear as the man gutted a lightly armored Church soldier, punching through his target’s leather trappings. 

“Professor, stop!” Annette yelled. “Please!” 

The four Spartan reinforcements finished their bloody work with terrifying professionalism, the faces Dimitri could see beneath their plumed helmets grim and stony as they grabbed the three surviving militia and hauled them away from the corpses blanketing the lawn. The soldiers wiped their bloody swords off on the grass before sliding them back into their scabbards, then yanked their blood-slick spears from the bodies of the fallen Knights before closing ranks between the pillars. 

Professor Eisner joined the phalanx, murmuring to the soldiers in Greek. 

“Catherine, go treat your wounds,” Rhea ordered, her face never turning away from the professor as her green eyes burned into him. “Professor, why are you defending these traitors?” 

“Their village and their families need them,” the professor answered coolly. “And Catherine threatened my students not once but twice. What kind of professor would I be if I didn’t move to defend them?” 

“The militia betrayed the Church and the Goddess. There is no graver sin,” Rhea replied. “Their families will be investigated, of course, and other laborers from the Church will be sent to fill their professions if necessary. All will be taken care of, so all we must do is administer judgement upon the guilty.” 

Several more Knights emerged, forming a protective cordon around the Archbishop as they stared down the Spartan phalanx. Dimitri cursed the narrow line of sight provided by the classroom doors, which was further obscured by the presence of the foreign mercenaries and their phalanx. 

Shadows fell across the yard, followed by powerful wingbeats and shouting voices. 

“Stand down, savages!” Seteth’s voice barked, a wyvern roaring right after. “Lower your arms and you may face a quick execution for the Knights you’ve killed!” 

One of the Spartans yelled something in Greek, which drew a bark of laughter from the others, save for Byleth. The Professor strode forward, reversing his grip on his spear, and then hurled the weapon skyward. 

A wyvern’s scream of pain was immediately followed by the scaly beast smashing onto the ground in front of the Professor, Seteth being thrown from the saddle. The Professor strode up to the writhing, groaning wyvern and pulled his spear out from its neck, then silenced the creature with a thrust through its eye socket. 

Seteth tried to stand up, but the Professor kicked him in the side of the head with a bronze greave and put the man back on the ground. The crack of metal against Seteth’s skull made Dimitri wince, the sound scraping against his eardrums. 

“Sir Seteth!” one of the Knights surrounding Rhea cried, but none of them moved. 

They didn’t move even when Dimitri swore he felt something shift in the air. The Professor suddenly spun to the right, just as a bow thrummed and an arrow shaft embedded itself into his shield. 

“What the?” a surprised female voice degraded into an impact and a struggle off to the side, ending with a grunt and a thud. 

“Nice of you to show up, Timotheos,” the Professor grunted, straightening and snapping the arrow shaft with a swipe of his spear. 

“I’m surprised we snuck up on this one,” the Spartan’s gruff voice responded from the arrow’s origin. “Normally she has the reflexes of a lion.” 

“I was too focused on him,” came a voice Dimitri recognized as Shamir, followed by the woman giving a tired sigh. “That was my own fault.” 

“My dear Byleth, please lower your weapons,” Rhea spoke up gently, her voice no longer a frigid gale but a warm, soothing kiss from a summer wind. “You do not need to fight for those traitors. I admire your dedication to defending civilians, but those people are not worthy of your shield.” 

Dimitri clenched his fists again. They were civilians who thought they were doing something right! They weren’t murderers or criminals! 

“Now!” a man yelled, and the ring of white Knights surged forward towards the Professor. “Execute them all!” 

He backed up behind his shield as his comrades advanced to reform their line at his side. The Knights slammed into a wall of bronze, trying to throw their swords and lances over the top to get at the Spartans waiting behind them. A few hit helmets, but the Spartans shrugged off their vicious attacks and coolly thrust their spears out in retaliation. 

Dimitri marveled in how well the veteran soldiers worked together, shielding not only themselves but the man at their side while attempting to exploit the openings their many foes presented their tight formation. If one man was being attacked, the spears of the men at either side were jabbing at his assailant alongside his own, presenting a multi-pronged attack that was difficult to evade and exceedingly deadly. 

And the Spartans knew exactly where to strike to ensure a killing blow with their heavy spear heads. 

A sword blade slammed into the side of the Professor’s helmet with a loud clang, but the man wasn’t fazed as he jammed his spear home into his assailant’s shoulder. The Spartan at his side finished the job with a spear through the attacking Knight’s throat, and one of the others shouted a Greek command. 

The formation pushed forward a pace, the soldiers shoving their shield wall out and battering the surviving Knights of Seiros with a deafening crash of metal on metal. The Spartans were damn near impossible to beat so long as they stayed in formation, given the huge shields protecting their fronts, but their phalanx was plenty vulnerable from the flanks and the rear. Not to mention how poorly their armor fared against magic, which had already shown in the past how devastating it could be against them. 

Dimitri could see the Knights trying to get around the formation, but the Spartans used the pillars for cover while two men filled the gaps between the pillars and classroom walls with their wide shields. 

It was only now that Dimitri realized that whatever crowd had been watching this debacle had fallen completely silent, as had his classmates. He could feel the fear in the air: the thick coppery taste of terror and shock. 

None of which was coming from the Spartan soldiers as they finished off the Knights who’d been battered by the phalanx’s charge. 

“That’s enough,” Rhea ordered, but Dimitri couldn’t see any more Knights of Seiros currently alive save for the unconscious one lying on the classroom floor. 

The Professor looked around cautiously before breaking formation and striding towards Rhea, his spear and shield still in front of him. Dimitri feared just for a split moment that his Professor was about to attack the Archbishop, but Rhea didn’t seem afraid. 

“Stay away from Lady Rhea!” a young voice screamed, and Professor Eisner took a step back to avoid an axe as Cyril came racing out of nowhere. 

The Professor let the boy’s overhead strike blitz in front of him, then swung his spear down to smack Cyril’s axe from his hands. He then spun and slammed his massive shield into the boy’s body, sending him tumbling onto the ground. 

“I was wondering where you were,” that monotone voice droned. “You have potential, but you have a long way to go before you can challenge me.” The Professor continued forward and then stopped before the Archbishop, raising his spear and jabbing the spiked butt into the lawn while letting his shield hang at his side. “Is that all, Lady Rhea?” 

The Archbishop gave him an unnervingly kind smile for a woman who’d just watched him and his allies butcher her faithful soldiers. “Your martial prowess is truly beyond what I’d expected! I would like you to spend some time with me later so I might brief you on the tenets of the Church and our faith.” 

What? What the hell had all of this been? A test?! 

“What?” Annette spluttered behind Dimitri, taking the words right out of his mouth. “W-wait, what happened?” 

“Lady Rhea? What was the purpose of this?!” Dimitri demanded. 

The Archbishop gave him a motherly smile filled with fangs. “Forgive me, Prince Dimitri, but I merely wished to test how faithful Professor Eisner was to the Church and to his students. The traitors needed to be dealt with as well, and I wished to address two issues at once.” 

“Are you mad?!” one of the Spartans broke formation and gestured wildly with his spear, giving everyone in the classroom a better view of the carnage as the Spartans lowered their shields. “Your people died fighting us! Did you just want to throw their lives away?!” 

Rhea actually looked guilty as she looked down at her unconscious vassals and the dead Knights of Seiros, her gaze passing over the discarded Thunderbrand that had been spattered with its wielder’s blood. “This...was not supposed to become a battle between your Spartans and my Knights. Catherine panicked when you called your comrades.” 

“I called Podiarches and the others to help me defend the Blue Lions, not to attack you,” Professor Eisner droned, his empty voice almost too loud in the wake of the death filling the Academy yard. “Catherine and your Knights attacked us first.” 

“I am glad that you are unharmed, Byleth,” Rhea nodded, Dimitri clenching his fists again at how uncaring she was to the deaths of her faithful. “You three: come here, please.” 

It took Dimitri a moment to realize that she’d been summoning the surviving militia members, who carefully strode up to the Archbishop while wide eyes took in the carnage. 

“By the Goddess, that was terrifying,” he recognized one of the two carpenter siblings, the ones who’d worn the pots to battle a few days ago. 

Where was the other one? Dimitri looked down at the corpses and saw her lying at Rhea’s feet, her sightless eyes boring into his soul, accusing him. 

_You could have saved us_ , she damned him. _You could have saved all of us._

Dimitri tore his gaze away from the corpse, trying to ignore those burning, empty eyes before yet another ghost began following in his wake. 

“What are ye going to do to us? Lady Rhea?” the farmer whose wife was with child had survived the slaughter, it would seem. 

The Archbishop held up a graceful hand to silence him, her eyes boring into the Professor. “Now, Byleth, will you meet with me later so we might have a discussion on this month’s mission, among other things?” 

Dimitri didn’t even want to consider what she meant by ‘other things’, but he doubted anyone would think ill of her. 

“Of course, Lady Rhea,” Professor Eisner answered without hesitation, but Dimitri swore he heard a tightening in the man’s toneless voice. “What of the dead?” 

Rhea gave him another sweet yet predatory smile, her eyes gleaming with affection as she stared at the Professor. “Their families will be notified and compensated, of course. They will all be buried on the Monastery grounds.” 

She only meant the Knights, not the militia, Dimitri knew. 

“U-um, Lady Archbishop?” one of the survivors spoke up hesitantly. 

Rhea snapped her hand out, magical runes flaring as bolts of light slammed into the three survivors and threw them into the wall behind them with a meaty slap. Dimitri’s rage died in his throat as he heard the militia slide down the bricks and slump onto the floor to the right of the doors. 

The Spartans tensed and raised their spears, lifting their shields to better protect themselves should Rhea take aim at them next. 

Enough is enough! 

“Stop,” Dimitri shoved his way past the Spartans, the old soldiers protesting as he pushed them aside to stride out into the devastation. “Please.” 

Rhea nodded, then reached up and lightly caressed the cheek guard on the Professor’s helmet. “I look forward to our meeting.” She lowered her hand and then turned to the crowd of monks, pilgrims, and students that were watching the debacle in stunned horror. 

Professor Casagranda and Professor von Essar were standing protectively in front of their gathered students, and Dimitri could see Edelgard’s lilac eyes smoldering as she glared at either Rhea or Professor Eisner. 

Off to the right-Dimitri forced himself not to look at the dead militia slumped against blood streaked bricks-Shamir was on her knees with two Spartans holding her down with her arms behind her back. The mercenary looked bored, but she wasn’t trying to break free. 

“Get some of the staff to see to this,” Lady Rhea ordered, kneeling by the still-unconscious Seteth and running a slender hand over his forehead. “Take Seteth and Cyril to the infirmary as soon as possible.” 

Dimitri tried to swallow the heavy lump in his throat, found it drier than the deserts of Sreng. 

What the hell had Lady Rhea been thinking with this debacle, and why was she so fixated on Professor Eisner? 

“Professor, what do you want us to do?” Sylvain asked. 

Professor Eisner turned back to his students, his abyss-blue eyes boring into Dimitri. “Take the day off, but don’t forget your assignments that are due at the end of the week.” 

“I’m already finished, Professor!” Annette declared. 

“Of course you are,” Felix muttered. 

“I really need to get started on that,” Ashe lamented. “I need to find a good topic for it...” 

“I forgot that assignment,” Sylvain groaned, a haunted look on his face. 

Before Dimitri could shake his head, Mercedes added her voice to the Lions. 

“Assignment? What are we doing?” 

Goddess help them all. 


	11. Mending

His students were shaken, and they had every right to be. Byleth had seen it shortly after that fight in the Academy yard: their hesitation to talk or look at him, the way conversations stalled whenever he walked in. Ashe rarely left his room, only going to class or the cathedral before slinking back to his chambers in silence. 

They did what they were told in training and acknowledged this month’s mission for the Rite of Rebirth, but he knew they talked among themselves for a time after he left. Most of them, anyway: The Ashen Wolves just did their own thing. 

“That’s enough for now,” he announced to his panting, sweat-soaked kids as they paused in their drills. “Get yourselves taken care of and get some rest. Next week is the Rite of Rebirth, and we shall see if our hunch is correct on the intruders’ target.” 

“Yes, Professor,” Dimitri nodded, his blue eyes almost icy as he slammed the butt of his training lance hard enough onto the ground to make the wooden shaft crack and splinter. “Oh! Blast it!” 

Byleth tapped the ground with his own sauroter. “Good work this month, all of you. I know I’m pushing you hard and I would not blame you should you choose to resent me for the unpleasantness that occurred last week, but I will not apologize for choosing to protect you over the militia.” 

Dimitri, Ingrid and Felix stiffened, while Sylvain winced and Mercedes and Annette just looked downcast. Dedue glanced at his liege but said nothing, yet Byleth didn’t miss how his hand tightened its grip on his axe. 

“You’ve all improved by leaps and bounds since we first started, but you were not ready to fight the Knights of Seiros,” being blunt would be best here, especially now that they’ve had the chance to recover from that insanity and wrap their heads around it. 

“You and the Spartans held them off easily enough,” Felix grunted, his knuckles white from how tightly he was gripping his blade. 

“Only because we forced them to fight in conditions favorable to us,” Byleth held up his wide hoplon. “If we hadn’t been able to set up our phalanx in the way we had, we would have been hard-pressed to stand our ground. We Spartans are veterans, but so are the Knights. They would have been too much for you to handle, not to mention that the Church might have had you executed for standing at my side against Lady Rhea.” 

“Why does she like you so much?” Sylvain folded his arms. “You kill about a dozen of her Knights, seriously wound Thunder Catherine, and beat both her advisor and her errand boy into the ground, yet she invites you to her chambers for tea and a chat without any sort of punishment.” 

“Because I was acting in your defense after Catherine overstepped,” Byleth answered, suppressing a shudder at the memory of Rhea’s eager chat with him after that debacle. “Had you intervened, she would have had to execute you all for crimes against the Church.” 

“She murdered those people,” Dimitri growled, clenching his fist. 

“I’m not happy about it, either,” Byleth assured him, trying not to let his thoughts linger on the revelation that the girl in his head shared a name with the Goddess, let alone Her Crest. “Rhea had intended for the execution to be a lesson to the entire Academy to not cross the Church, but clearly it became much more, or so she claimed.” 

It had almost become much more for him, too: his neck still itched sometimes from where Shamir’s arrow had punched through his flesh, shredding blood vessels and shearing muscles before tearing into his windpipe. 

Sothis had saved him, and she’d made it abundantly clear that he had to be more careful in the future despite how often he thanked her. She was still fretting about her connection to the Goddess and her possibility of actually being the Goddess, but Byleth didn’t know what to say to her. 

“And that lesson necessitated the murder of those villagers?!” Felix spat, punching a training dummy. “They weren’t soldiers!” 

“Rhea believed otherwise, but I don’t agree with her,” Byleth shook his head. 

“I’d hope not,” Ingrid said with a steely voice. “That execution was completely unnecessary and was little more than Church-sanctioned murder. Those people were civilians who didn’t even do anything! Yes, they were on the battlefield, but they lowered their weapons and walked away! How could those soldiers call themselves knights for executing unarmed and helpless civilians?!” 

“They served their master as loyally as any knight should,” Felix said in a sardonic, mocking voice, bitterness dripping from every word. “Or that’s what my foolish old man would say.” 

“You do not need to mock Rodrigue, Felix,” Dimitri said coolly. “He’s a good man who’s served me and my father to the utmost of his ability.” 

Felix scoffed but said nothing more, his eyes simmering with barely controlled anger. 

“I just don’t understand how she could do that,” Annette murmured, shaking her head. “How she could just kill those three people without even thinking.” 

“I don’t know, Annie,” Mercedes rubbed her friend’s shoulder, but she said nothing admonishing the Archbishop’s actions. 

Byleth supposed that was only natural for someone as devoted to the Church as she was. He didn’t know her thoughts on the matter, and she respectfully declined his attempts to speak with her about it. They all had, until now. 

Maybe it was because he’d put them on the spot now. 

“I should have done something,” Dimitri growled, wood creaking as he clenched his broken lance even harder. “Why did I just stand there?” 

“You did what you were supposed to do, all of you,” Byleth looked each student in the eyes. “I know staying behind me and not getting involved had to be killing you, but you did the right thing. Had you somehow managed to get out and attack the Knights of Seiros, the Church would have taken your heads for treason against the faith.” 

Rhea had made that abundantly clear when they’d spoken after the fight, not even hesitating when he’d asked if she would kill Dimitri as well. 

“Yes, I would,” she’d said, reaching out and placing a tender yet strong hand on his own. “We cannot abide traitors who point their blades at the Goddess, no matter who they may be.” 

“I killed your Knights, so does that not mean that I pointed my blade at Her?” Byleth asked, trying to tune out Sothis as she muttered on his shoulder. 

Rhea had shaken her head. “Not at all, my dear Byleth: Catherine attacked you first, after all. She forced your hand.” She rose and moved over to him, her hands gently tugging his helmet off and setting it on the table, letting his long hair tumble out. She then leaned over and gently kissed his forehead. “You have been chosen by the Goddess, and your Crest proves it. You belong here at the monastery, and I look forward to spending many years at your side here.” 

“As you say, Rhea.” 

The ashen faces of his students returned, all of them staring at him. 

“Would she have actually killed all of us?” Sylvain asked. “Even Dimitri?” 

“Every last one of you,” Byleth nodded grimly. “I asked and that was her answer.” 

Dedue and Ingrid inched closer to their prince, whose fist had snapped right through what was left his weapon and left the pieces scattered on the ground. 

“Ok, how about we focus on something else?” Mercedes spoke up, her soothing voice a balm to the tension filling the air. 

Nobody spoke. 

Then a loud crunching noise filled the training yard, all eyes swiveling to where Hapi and Yuri were leaning against the wall, biting into apples. 

“Hey,” Hapi said, though her full mouth mangled the word a bit as apple chunks spewed out from her lips. 

“Hey,” Byleth answered. “How’s everyone in Abyss doing?” 

“Well enough,” Yuri shrugged, chomping into his own apple. 

Hapi swallowed, ignoring the juice running down her face and the apple chunks dotting her uniform. “Are you guys still upset over those knights that Shiny killed? Don’t be: they’re just a bunch of morons who are more than happy to throw children into Abyss if it means not having to deal with them.” 

“So you keep reminding us, Hapi,” Dimitri sighed, shaking his head. “Your dislike of the Knights and the Church is well known to us.” 

She shrugged. “Just saying. Don’t be so broken up about them, especially since they’d kill you without a second thought if they were told to. Not like they didn’t already try.” 

“Don’t you have something better to do? Like following the Professor around like a lost mutt?” Felix growled. “Why don’t you just chain yourself to him if you’re that obsessed?” 

Hapi bounced her half-eaten apple off his head, and Byleth sighed as the infuriated Fraldarius stomped towards her with murder blazing in his eyes. 

“Enough, Felix!” Ingrid snapped. “You too, Hapi. We’re students of the Academy: we are expected to behave in a manner befitting our stations as future knights.” 

Hapi rolled her eyes, then stretched her arms before stifling a yawn. “Whatever you say, Lady Knight. Hey, Shiny, do we still have to do that history assignment? It’s due on the Day of Rebirth, so isn’t that sacrilege or something?” 

Byleth shook his head. “It’s due the day before, Hapi. You understood that you were responsible for taking care of your classwork when I accepted you into my class, did you not?” 

The girl sighed and slumped, the juice dripping from her chin making Byleth want to clean her up. “Yeah.” 

“Good,” he lifted his spear and shield and nodded to the students. “I’m glad you all allowed me to speak to you. Good day.” 

He turned and departed the training grounds, his sandals striking the cobblestone floors with each step. Almost immediately, he heard hurried footsteps behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Hapi racing to catch up. 

“Was there something you needed?” he asked once she’d reached his side, offering him a small smile. 

“Nah, I just wanted to talk. That okay with you?” she asked, falling into step next to him. 

Byleth nodded. “Of course. I’m always glad to talk with you.” 

Her face darkened with embarrassment, but her lips curved into a fuller smile. “Thanks, Chatterbox. I know you said as such during my first tutoring session a couple weeks ago, but it’s nice to hear it again.” 

Her smile was...nice to see. 

“What did you want to talk about?” he asked. 

“Oh, just how much I appreciated you looking out for me and for always making time to help me out with Academy stuff,” Hapi interlaced her fingers behind her head as they walked together, her red eyes peering at him. “You’re different from the others, y’know: you actually want me around you.” 

“Of course I do,” he nodded. “I guess the others are hesitant to get too close to you because of the sighing?” 

Her face fell. “Bingo. They’re all so afraid that I’ll bring a Demonic Beast crashing into the room or call a giant bird through the roof with one sigh. They clear out whenever I’m in the room.” 

“I’m not afraid of you, so you need not worry about me ditching you,” Byleth shifted his spear to his left hand and reached out to gently pat her shoulder with the now-freed hand. 

“Thanks, Chatterbox,” she smiled again. “I appreciate it. You’re the best.” 

“It’s what I’m here for,” he nodded. 

“Ah, there you are!” Edelgard’s voice drew his gaze to the garden courtyards they were passing, where she was standing in the entry gate with Hubert behind her. “I was looking for you, my teacher.” 

“What did you need?” Byleth asked, letting his hand fall back to his side. 

Edelgard gestured behind her, where a table had been set up with tea, sweets and, oddly enough, three chairs. “Care to join me, my teacher? If you aren’t already occupied, that is.” 

“I’ll see you later, Chatterbox,” Hapi lightly punched his arm in what he supposed was meant to be a friendly manner. “Have fun with Little Princess.” 

Hubert growled a warning, but Hapi stuck her tongue out at him before striding away. 

“I would enjoy your company,” Byleth said to Edelgard as he followed her to the table. 

“I would take care with that spear of yours, Professor,” Hubert mused. “It would be most unfortunate if you were to suffer an accident with it.” 

Edelgard shot him a warning glare, but Byleth ignored the boy and sat down across from the heir of Adrestia, leaning his equipment against a nearby hedge. Hubert did not sit, rather choosing to stand a bit behind Edelgard’s chair and glower menacingly at Byleth. 

“Hubert, the only accident waiting to happen is you skulking around in the shadows, following me,” Byleth finally said after a few tense moments of silence, during which Edelgard had been pouring out the tea while Hubert continued glaring. “I’m likely to throw my spear through you without asking any questions.” 

Hubert flinched. “Given your renowned accuracy with that thing, I do not doubt it...” 

“His skill and power were on display for everyone,” Edelgard interrupted, giving Byleth an apologetic smile. “I must say, I sometimes can’t get the memory out of my head, watching you and yours crush your opponents.” 

“I didn’t fight because I wanted to,” Byleth shook his head and accepted the cup she offered him. “I fought because Catherine threatened my students and attacked me, first.” 

Edelgard nodded and took a sip of her own tea, keeping her back straight and stiff as her lilac eyes sought out his own. “Indeed. Still, it was quite the sight watching you spear Seteth’s wyvern in midair and then knock him and Cyril out with a single blow. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from you.” 

“I remember you being a force of nature back on Magdred Way,” Byleth mused as he attempted to mimic her sip of tea. 

He never knew if he was fulfilling whatever social obligations were demanded from such things. At least the tea was hot and tangy, filling him with warmth as it went down his throat. 

“I was simply doing what I had to,” Edelgard shrugged, and Byleth tried to fight through the overwhelming waves of power radiating from her. “As were you, of course. How have the Blue Lions been faring? I imagine they didn’t take too kindly to watching their people get executed.” 

Something in her gaze hardened before her mask slipped back into place. 

“They’re blaming themselves for not doing anything, although I took great pains to ensure they couldn’t,” Byleth took another sip. “I told them what Rhea told me: that she would have killed any and all of them if they’d interfered.” 

“Yet she did not kill you,” Edelgard pointed out. “Which I am glad for, of course. I do not think the Academy would be the same without you.” 

“Hardly, Lady Edelgard,” Hubert gave a low, ominous chuckle. “I think the Archbishop would be able to find another capable mercenary to force into her service.” 

“Hubert, enough,” Edelgard snapped, her carefully crafted composure slipping as she glared at her vassal. 

“She didn’t kill me because I acted in defense of my students,” Byleth set down his empty cup and silently gauged the distance between his spear and his chair. “If they’d interfered, then they would be the aggressors in disrupting an otherwise legal and Church-sanctioned execution, which was supposed to be a lesson to everyone in the Academy to not cross the Church.” 

“Typical,” Edelgard muttered, shaking her head. “Rhea murders unarmed civilians because they dared to go against the Church and calls it legal.” 

“If I could have saved them, I would have,” Byleth could feel dark power gathering into Hubert’s hands and readied himself to throw, taking care to target a non-vital spot on the lanky teen’s body. “My students came first.” 

“Hubert, if you fire that spell, you’ll find the Professor’s spear in your shoulder,” Edelgard said in an icy, even tone as even more power flooded Byleth’s senses. “I would advise you to rethink your choice.” 

“As would I,” Lysithea, of all people strode into the garden, dark energies crackling around her raised fingertips. 

“Lysithea? What are you doing here?” Byleth asked, relaxing as Hubert let his gathered power fade. 

“Edelgard invited me for tea,” the younger girl answered, snuffing out her own spell as she took the empty seat. “I’m glad to see you, Professor.” 

“And I am glad to see you, like always. How have you been?” the overwhelming strength of their magical aura was setting his nerves on edge, but he endured in silence. 

She gave him a small but genuine smile as she grabbed a sweet biscuit and bit into it, her face melting into ecstasy. “Oh, such sugary goodness! Only cake is better!” She coughed and quickly composed herself. “Professor, I’ve been fine, although I find that I’ve fast outpaced Professor von Essar’s lectures. I’m spending every minute I can in the library, trying to learn everything I can.” 

“How very studious of you, Lysithea,” Edelgard mused, offering another cookie to the girl, who happily took it. “I’m impressed by how hard you’ve been working.” 

Lysithea nodded, brushing crumbs off of her face. “Thank you, Edelgard. I only wish I could do more to ensure the future of my parents and my house...” 

“You’re doing more than enough as you are,” Byleth said gently. “And you’ll have plenty of time to expand your ambitions.” 

“Perhaps,” Lysithea said with a rueful smile, gazing down at her half-eaten cookie. “I have to do more, no matter what. My parents deserve it.” 

“You deserve it, too,” Byleth said. “Don’t forget that.” 

Lysithea nodded to herself. “So you say, Professor. You know, you two are really the only ones who don’t treat me like a child. It’s...refreshing, if I’m being honest.” 

“You’re more mature than most your age, but I’m curious as to why you feel the need to be as such,” Edelgard mused. 

“Let’s just say I don’t have the luxury of time,” Lysithea said, the ominous undertones putting quite the damper on the gathering. 

Edelgard took another sip of tea and set her cup down. “Well, whatever you might need, know that you can always come to me.” 

“And me,” Byleth added. “You might not be a Blue Lion, but I would be glad to help you with anything I can.” 

“Thank you, both of you,” the young student shoved what was left of her sweet into her mouth, chewing happily. 

“You know, Lysithea,” Edelgard began, a coy smile curving her lips. “I’ve heard that you’ve been frequently approached by suitors offering to bind your house to theirs once you come of age.” 

Lysithea’s expression soured immediately, and Byleth found his muscles aching to find these ‘suitors’ and beat them into the ground for approaching a young girl with such proposals. 

“I have no interest in the hollow words of insincere nobles who only care about potentially giving themselves sway at the Roundtable by marrying into House Ordelia,” Lysithea growled. “I’ve come to accept that any romance will just be a lost cause for me. I don’t have time to waste pondering it, either.” 

“A shame, since I am certain that you will be quite beautiful when you grow up,” Edelgard mused, making Lysithea cough as her cheeks flamed. 

“If any of them prove to be more persistent or annoying, let me know and I’ll straighten them out,” Byleth said. “I’ll not have a bunch of pigs harassing an underage girl.” 

Both girls blanched, eyes wide. 

“You, uh, really have strong feelings about that, don’t you?” Edelgard said. 

“Spartans were strict about relationships only really being pursued after they came of age, more so because they were focused on their adults breeding the perfect soldiers, and the Blade Breaker Company had several contracts dealing with predators who’d tried to slake their appetites on children or underage girls,” those were the contracts that he actually enjoyed, relishing the feeling of his spear gutting their targets. “I’m used to dealing with such people and being paid for jamming a spear into them.” 

Lysithea nodded, an uneasy look in her eyes as she did. Perhaps he’d been too forceful about it? 

“Well, at least that should remove some of the unpleasant rumors that have been circulating,” Edelgard mused. “That the Spartans like to bed one another with the underage students.” 

Byleth shrugged. “They have no problem with each other, sure, but they sure as Hades won’t touch an underage student. Every man would rather fall on their swords than do that to a kid.” 

Edelgard raised an eyebrow, more curious than anything. “Do they? Well, have you ever...you know?” 

“No. Never had the interest in it,” Byleth shook his head. “And I only came of age four years ago, so the Spartans never once saw me in that way. That, and my father threatened to castrate them if they ever laid a hand on me like that.” 

“That sounds terrifying,” Lysithea muttered. “The famed Blade Breaker threatening to cut off your...er, actually, I really don’t need the image that puts in my mind.” 

“Neither do I,” Edelgard sighed, but her gaze lingered on Byleth while her cheeks were tinted a faint pink. 

“Sorry,” Byleth said. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” 

“It’s fine!” Lysithea spluttered, and then she gave him a curious look. “Actually, Professor, I wanted to ask you something.” 

“Go ahead.” 

“During my studies, I have excelled in magic and intellectual matters, but I have found that I am woefully unprepared for close combat of any kind,” she started. “Professor von Essar is a skilled warlock and researcher, but my close quarters combat training with him has been...less than effective.” 

“Well, as a mage, you’re more wont to believe that you can just blast your way out of any situation, especially if you have allies with you, but even the most skilled mage needs to have some martial prowess,” Byleth nodded. “After all, anything can happen on the battlefield.” 

Lysithea nodded. “You have the right of it. I...had discovered that on our last mission. We were supposed to guard a caravan, and we got attacked by bandits on the way there. Raphael had to save me from one of the bandits after they got past everyone else. I was out of spells and couldn’t...” 

Byleth reached out and gently squeezed her shoulder, recalling how it seemed to put Hapi at ease. “I’m glad you’re here and safe.” 

“Thank you, Professor. I wanted to know if you could potentially tutor me in swordplay whenever you have some free time,” Lysithea turned her pale eyes over to him, determination blazing in those irises. “I know I’m weaker than most, and my body isn’t exactly sturdy, but I have to try.” 

“I’d be glad to teach you what I can,” Byleth nodded. “I have some training sessions with the other Spartans that have opened up since Lady Rhea sent them along with my father and the rest of the company. I will gladly use that time to tutor you in sword work.” 

Her eyes gleamed as she nodded excitedly. “Thank you, Professor! I look forward to it!” 

“As do I,” Byleth found himself actually anticipating working with her. 

“I’m glad to see you two getting along so well,” Edelgard commented, a smile on her lips. “Perhaps we should do this again in the future?” 

“Yes, we should,” Lysithea nodded immediately. “Your company is quite pleasant.” 

He’d never been told he was pleasant before...it felt...warm and nice. 

“Professor?” both girls were staring at him, their eyes glittering. 

“You’re smiling,” Edelgard explained when he raised an eyebrow at them. “It’s...captivating.” 

“Am I?” Byleth reached up to his face and felt that his mouth was indeed curving into a smile. 

Curious. 

“Your smile is really nice,” Lysithea agreed, averting her red-tinted face when Byleth glanced at her. 

“Thank you,” Byleth nodded, glancing up as the bell tolled. “Ah, that reminds me: I need to talk to Ashe before the next lecture.” 

“Ah,” Edelgard winced. “I’d heard that he personally knew those militia members. I imagine he’s taking this pretty hard.” 

“He is: he rarely leaves his room and spends all his spare time in the cathedral, praying,” Byleth rose and retrieved his gear, their worn, leather-covered grips as familiar to him as his own skin. “Thank you for inviting me, Edelgard. I hope you have a good day, both of you.” 

“Take care, Professor,” Lysithea nodded and then grabbed a pastry before shoving it into her mouth. 

Byleth strode out of the yard and walked along the length of the student dorms, seeking Ashe’s door. He soon found his quarry and strode up to it, rapping his spear’s head against the wood. 

There was rustling and a grunt from inside, followed by the door slowly swinging open to reveal a weary, dark-eyed boy with tousled hair as if he’d just gotten himself out of bed. 

“Professor?” he mumbled, his bag-lined eyes barely focusing on the armored man. “Did I miss a lecture?” 

“I wanted to check on you,” Byleth answered. “How are you feeling?” 

“I can’t get them out of my head,” the boy murmured. “I keep seeing them dying. I should have done something. A knight would have done something.” 

“Rhea would have had you executed if you did,” Byleth shook his head. 

Ashe looked up at him, his unfocused eyes almost glazing over. “Like you executed Lonato? Did they all deserve to die for trying to do something about his pain?” 

“It was either me or a public execution at the Church’s hands. I gave him the dignity of dying like a knight rather than as a criminal. You know that Catherine found that scroll detailing an attempt on Rhea’s life, yes?” this didn’t seem right, seeing the normally cheerful and determined Ashe so...broken. 

He nodded, though the gesture seemed more like him bobbing his head up and down. 

“I have reason to believe that this letter was put on Lonato for the purpose of it being found by us, or whoever else got the better of him,” Byleth tried to choose his words carefully, but Ashe wasn’t giving him too many responses to work with. “Meaning that whoever our enemy is that we are likely going to encounter in the Mausoleum will have used Lonato as a messenger of sorts to divert attention away from their true purpose.” 

Ashe’s eyes hardened. “They used Lonato and the others? They knew they would likely die?” 

“That is my guess,” Byleth nodded. “Now, you can help me bring these people to justice, or you can stay here and squander Lonato’s legacy by sulking in your room.” 

Ashe stiffened, but Byleth could see his thoughts whirling about in his eyes. 

Bingo. 

“Alright, Professor,” the boy nodded. “I’ll...try to get myself together. For Lonato and the everyone else in the class.” 

“Good man,” Byleth clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m counting on you.” 

Ashe nodded again. “I think I can do it, Professor. Leave it to me.” 

“I’ll see you in class,” Byleth walked away, listening to Ashe exhale slowly and shut the door. 

Good. 

All that needed to be done now was get ready for next week’s mission. 


	12. Absurdities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to do things differently than the game, so feel free to leave your thoughts on what I've done with this chapter. I wanted to do a POV from after the fight in the Holy Mausoleum rather than during it, since I think pretty much everyone knows what's going to happen (the 'Western Church' is routed and the Death Knight defeated, etc. etc.) I also wanted to do something a little goofy or not so serious since the entire story can't just be blood and violence all the time, eh?

“Professor, do you have anything to say that could possibly justify your actions in the Holy Mausoleum?” Seteth was rubbing his forehead, kneading at the veins throbbing across his flesh. 

Dimitri and Professor Eisner were sitting across from him, Dimitri nursing a blast wound on his side from where a Western Church infiltrator had zapped him with a Nosferatu. It took a herculean effort for him to resist staring at the wicked greave-shaped bruise discoloring the side of Seteth’s face. 

“We tracked our enemies there, as you know, and we engaged them,” Professor Eisner answered with his no-nonsense monotone, not even looking winded from his fight with that monstrous reaper knight. “Their leader was attempting to open the tomb of Seiros while his lackeys bought him time, but my students swept through them with ease. I engaged their...Death Knight, and drove him to flee.” 

That was putting it lightly: Dimitri could still vividly recall how his Professor had goaded the reaper into charging him, then unhorsed the monstrous warrior by spearing his mount and throwing him onto the ground. The Professor had nearly lost his head to that vicious scythe several times, especially as they engaged in a deadly dance with their long polearms. 

The Professor had gotten lucky, somehow, dodging a sudden attack that even Dimitri hadn’t been able to see until it was too late, and he’d rammed his spear into the Death Knight’s exposed side, punching through plate and chain mail and forcing the reaper to teleport away. 

Dimitri had been dealing with Western Church soldiers during that fight, but he could have sworn he’d felt that unusual shift in the air a few times, as if something was changing that he was not aware of. It made his Crest churn inside of his blood. 

“That is not what I mean, Eisner, and you know it!” Seteth snapped, losing his composure as he gestured at two silvery, glowing weapons resting in velvet-lined cases nearby. “You violated the sanctity of the Saints’ Tombs!” 

“The Tomb of Seiros was empty when the Western Church’s leader opened the casket,” Dimitri recalled. “He was reaching into it when the Professor threw his spear at him and cut him down.” 

“Not empty,” Professor Eisner reminded him, and Dimitri resisted the urge to chastise the man for his actions, regardless. “There was a bone sword or something inside of it, with a hole in the guard. Looked like the blade had been carved out of some kind of spine. It...unnerved me for some reason, so I left it there. I only opened the other Saints’ caskets to see if they held bones or if they were also empty.” 

Dimitri was surprised by the Professor’s admitting that he’d felt unnerved by that sword, which Dimitri guessed had been a Hero’s Relic or something similar to it. The hole that he’d described sounded like where a Crest Stone would have been inserted. 

“You desecrated them by prying them open and pillaging their contents!” Seteth snarled, the rage and indignity in his eyes making Dimitri’s defensive instincts flare. 

“Can’t really desecrate empty boxes,” Professor Eisner replied. “The caskets of Cethleann and Cichol held that staff and spear, but Indech and Macuil were empty. And I left those weapons in the Mausoleum: _you_ were the one who’d pillaged them.” 

“That is not the point! You still pried open the sacred tombs and damaged many others inside of the Mausoleum!” Seteth slammed his palms on his desk, making it rattle. 

“It was a battlefield. Spells and arrows were flying everywhere, and we did our best to minimize the damage done,” Professor Eisner answered. 

Dimitri shook his head, remembering quite well how Hapi had been flinging spells around with reckless abandon, actually seeming to do her best to hit both the coffins and the Western Church soldiers at the same time. She’d all too happily helped Professor Eisner pry open the caskets of the Four Saints, ignoring the other’s pleading for them to stop. 

“Professor, I understand that you were curious, but did you really have to break open the tombs?” Dimitri spoke up hesitantly, waiting to see how the infuriated Seteth responded. 

“I just had a feeling,” Professor Eisner answered. “A...voice suggesting that I uncover secrets in the tombs.” 

Seteth massaged his temples, exhaling slowly. “A voice? You heard a voice telling you to open the coffins of the Four Saints?” 

“We stopped the Western Church,” Dimitri said. “And protected that Relic that was in the tomb of Seiros. What was that, anyway? I’ve never seen it before.” 

“Rhea ordered me to cooperate with you, so I will tell you,” the advisor growled, lifting annoyed eyes upward. “That weapon was the Sword of the Creator, the Relic wielded by the ancient King of Liberation, Nemesis. The sword was gifted to him by the Goddess in order to allow him to vanquish evil, but he became corrupted by its power.” 

“It has no Crest Stone,” Dimitri remembered. “There was a hole in it, as if the Stone had been removed.” 

Seteth’s eyes widened. “No Crest Stone? Truly? I didn’t see it, myself, but...” 

“What do you want us to do?” Professor Eisner asked, at which Seteth’s gaze hardened. 

“If it was up to me, you would be relieved from your duties and expelled from Garreg Mach immediately,” the man snapped. “But Lady Rhea is of a different mind. I do not know why Lady Rhea is so unnaturally fond of you, but that does not mean that you’re exempt from punishment for what you’ve done.” 

“And what punishment would that be?” Professor Eisner asked. 

Seteth glared at him, but Dimitri could see fear glimmering in the man’s eyes. “You, personally, will clean out the student baths. None of your students may help you and none of the Blade Breaker mercenaries or Spartans can aid you either. This is your punishment and yours, alone.” 

The baths? Why the baths, of all things? 

Professor Eisner nodded, the plumes on his bronze helmet swaying at the motion. “It will be done. What’s the deadline?” 

“The end of the day,” Seteth answered with a cold gleam in his eyes. 

Absurd! That was completely unreasonable! There was no way that Professor Eisner could clean both bath houses when half the day had already passed! 

“Fine, consider it done,” Professor Eisner shrugged, not seeming bothered by his ‘punishment’ in the slightest. “I’ve had to do far more challenging tasks in half the time.” 

He was a soldier, through and through: Dimitri had no reason to doubt that he’d seen and done far worse. 

Seteth’s eye twitched, but the man said nothing as he reached up to gingerly rub his bruised face. 

“If that’s all, then I’ll get started,” the Professor rose, offered Seteth a small bow before pushing out the door and walking down the hall, his armor rattling with each step. 

“Wait, please,” Seteth said as Dimitri made to follow suit. “I would like to hear from you regarding your thoughts on Professor Eisner.” 

“My thoughts?” Dimitri repeated, as he met the advisor’s gaze. 

Seteth nodded. “What do you think of Professor Eisner and his teaching methods?” 

“Well, he doesn’t really have any methods to what he does, teaching wise,” Dimitri admitted. “But he gets the point across and is more than willing to modify parts of the lesson plan to better cover our strengths and weaknesses.” 

“Would you say that he is an efficient teacher?” 

“He is, which I will admit surprised me,” Dimitri nodded. “The assignments he hands out are allocated for our own goals, and he takes great pains to tutor us one-on-one in order to help us further understand our chosen paths.” 

“Interesting,” Seteth murmured, rubbing his goatee. “Perhaps he is more than just an unruly brute, after all...” 

“He’s strict and pushes us hard in our training, but he isn’t unreasonable or cruel,” Dimitri felt the need to add this. “He’s practical, trying to teach us how to survive on the battlefield and work together to get our missions done.” 

“As expected from a man whose entire life had been spent as a soldier,” Seteth mused. 

Dimitri nodded. “Will that be all, sir?” 

“You’re free to go,” Seteth nodded, his gaze distant as he wrestled with his thoughts. 

Dimitri rose and walked away, hoping that they would find some answers for everything that had happened. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Edelgard sighed as she strode towards the bathhouse, glancing up at the rosy twilight skies as the sun sunk lower and lower below the horizon, bringing a chill wind along with it. 

Her...’allies’ had failed at the Holy Mausoleum, but at least they’d confirmed her suspicions that the Church had sealed the Sword of the Creator away within. She certainly hadn’t expected Professor Eisner and the Blue Lions to intercept them: the plan had been near flawless yet still the Professor had seen through it. 

A forlorn sigh escaped her lips as she shook her head. She would have given anything to have him at her side, where she could better ascertain his views on this wretched system poisoning Fodlan and get better opportunities to ease him into her side. 

But he was willing to have her accompany his class on missions and training, so perhaps she could take full advantage of that to place herself in his good graces. She tried to ignore how her heart raced at the thought of spending more time with the Professor who shared a Crest with her, but the heat that filled her refused to be ignored. 

She was so lost in thought that she almost ran into Hilda outside the baths, only now realizing that there was a small crowd of female students clustered around the courtyard, some wrapped in towels with suds still on their wet bodies. She saw Lysithea sitting in the corner, her wet towel wrapped protectively around her like a cocoon. 

“What’s going on?” Edelgard demanded, forcing her voice to sound as imperious and commanding as possible as she slipped back into her role. 

Many in the crowd flinched at her command, and Edelgard noted that most of the girls were flustered and chattering excitedly among themselves. 

“Edie!” Dorothea strode over, her face tinted pink despite the wicked and all-too pleased smile curving her lips as she adjusted the towel wrapped around her body. “Oh, the Professor is inside.” 

Edelgard raised an eyebrow. “Professor Casagranda is in the baths? I thought she had her own private facilities?” 

And why would the older woman’s presence cause so many people to abandon their baths while looking simultaneously embarrassed and...happy? 

Dorothea gave a short laugh, her musical voice filling the air with bright tones that drew eyes from all over. “Oh, it’s not Professor Casagranda, Edie: it’s Professor Eisner!” 

Edelgard fought to keep her jaw from dropping. “P-Professor Eisner?! What on earth is he doing in the girls’ baths?!” 

“Apparently, Seteth’s punishment for him cracking open sacred tombs in the Holy Mausoleum earlier was to have him clean the baths before the day’s end,” Ingrid and Leonie strode up, the former looking utterly scandalized while the latter grinned like a devil. 

“He finished the boy’s bathhouse already and moved on to the girl’s,” Leonie explained. “And, of course, he decided to do that while we were all present. He just walked in, announced that he was supposed to clean the baths, then got to work while everyone just stared at him.” 

Hilda giggled from the side, her face almost the same color as her eyes and hair. “Oh, it was an interesting sight! Lysithea couldn’t tear her gaze away from him and almost walked into the door to the private baths!” 

“Shut up!” the younger student shrieked, burying her face in her towel cocoon. 

Edelgard felt another headache surging up as she rubbed her temples. “I cannot believe this...actually, I can. Those Spartans aren’t exactly known for their modesty.” 

“I know!” Dorothea giggled. “I remember the first time I saw them training in the yard before Seteth kicked them out! The Professor has quite a figure!” 

“The only things I remember are his muscles and scars,” another girl piped up, sighing wistfully as she did. “Goddess, he looked hot without that armor on!” 

“He didn’t have anything on: none of them did!” 

Edelgard felt her own cheeks heat at that and she desperately tried to chase the image of the Professor not wearing clothes out of her mind as she cleared her throat. “Well, I’ll head inside and talk to him before someone gets an army of knights down here.” 

She mustered her courage and strode into the bathhouse entrance, steam-heated air immediately blasting her in the face as she moved cautiously towards the wide room housing the baths, themselves. 

She eased her way around the slick stones, passed lines of lockers for the bathers’ possessions, and entered the long room that held a rectangular pool of heated water pumped in from the aqueducts. Pipes circulated the water to keep it as clean as possible, and fire runes beneath the laminated tile kept the pool heated. It was comfortable, and there were private baths in an adjacent room for those who didn’t want to share space with every other female student in the academy. 

Edelgard’s heart was pounding in her chest as her gaze swept over the steam-wreathed room, immediately noticing the three figures on the far side of the freshly-scrubbed pool. The first was undoubtedly Professor Eisner: his red tunic and muscular body were easy enough to identify, and Edelgard found herself mildly disappointed at the fact that he was actually wearing clothes. 

_No, damn it! Focus!_

She mentally flayed her rebellious thoughts and pushed on, fighting with the heat surging through her body with every step. Professor Eisner was on his hands and knees, scrubbing at the grimy tiles with a rough brush and a bucket of soapy water while a figure that Edelgard was much more familiar with stood behind him, not even caring that she was utterly naked and dripping water all over the man. 

“Professor, I apologize if this is hurting,” Petra said as she twisted his long hair into braids similar to her own, a smile on her lips as she wrestled with his dark locks. 

“It’s fine, Petra,” Professor Eisner answered, obviously trying to limit his movements so as to not hinder her efforts. “Thank you for showing me how Brigid warriors braid their hair. It’s similar to the Spartans, is it not?” 

Edelgard supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that Petra was still here: the girl had a similar sense of modesty as the Spartans did. Apparently, Brigid was much more tolerant in that regard, a fact Edelgard had learned very quickly upon first meeting the foreign princess. 

“It is, indeed! Perhaps you could be telling me more about Sparta in the future?” Petra asked earnestly as she plucked small hide hairbands from the wet floor and wrapped the braids in them to keep them together. “I would be gladdened, uh, glad to be learning more!” 

Didn’t she keep those bands in her locker for her own hair? 

“Maybe you could teach me how to do that?” a second girl was lounging on the edge of the bath, resting her head on her folded arms while the rest of her body floated in the water. “The braiding thing? My hair can be kind of annoying.” 

Hapi. Why was Edelgard not surprised to see the Abyssian here? The girl’s presence had probably been what had encouraged the others to abandon the baths rather than ogle the Professor’s well-sculpted, muscular body. 

Edelgard mentally slapped herself and strode forward, her shoes clicking against the tiles loud enough to make Petra and Hapi look over at her. “My teacher, what do you think you’re doing?” 

“My job,” Professor Eisner’s answer followed as he scrubbed again. “Petra, this section is done. All I need to do now are the private baths and I’ll be out of your way.” 

“The floors look great,” Hapi gave Edelgard a lazy smile, her own cheeks flushed with more than just the heat of the steamy room. “Almost as great as you, Shiny.” 

The girl clearly had a crush on the Professor: why else would she insist on spending as much time as possible with him? Edelgard tried to fight the unusually possessive feeling that tugged her heart and head whenever she saw them together, but said feeling was making her want to push Hapi under the water and hold her there until she stopped moving. 

“Thanks, Hapi, but I think you all look far better than I do,” the Professor answered without looking up, and Edelgard’s body was invaded by yet another surge of heat that boiled within her Crest-imbued blood. “I hardly think a scar-covered soldier is much to look at.” 

Oh, if only he knew how many hushed conversations Edelgard had overheard from girls, and some guys, commenting about how attractive the mysterious professor was. She’d even heard some of the priestesses expressing their attraction to him. 

“That’s awfully sweet of you,” Hapi drawled, a pleased smile on her lips. “You haven’t been spending too much time with Sylvain, have you?” 

“You are being too hard on yourself,” Petra declared as she finished tying up another intricate braid. “You are quite attracting, Professor.” 

She finished up, nodding with satisfaction as she folded her dripping arms before her lithe, tattooed body. 

“How does it look, Petra?” Professor Eisner stayed still, as if waiting for her to get back to braiding. 

“You look good, my teacher,” the words left Edelgard’s mouth of their own volition, and she almost bit her tongue as embarrassment flooded her. 

Damn it, why was she behaving like some foolish schoolgirl! She was the future Emperor of Adrestia: she was better than this! 

“Edelgard is speaking truly! You are looking quite good!” Petra agreed, pride in her voice as she took in her work. “Thank you for allowing me to be braiding your hair!” 

“Of course,” Professor Eisner’s monotone voice was betrayed by the small smile on his lips as he reached up and gingerly touched the intricate new braids. “I enjoyed it as well.” 

He rose from his hands and knees and turned to face Petra before bowing to her, not even caring that she was buck naked. He then moved towards the private baths and vanished inside. 

Petra looked over at Edelgard, obviously pleased with herself as she pumped her fist excitedly. “He is liking the braids! I am happy to be knowing that!” 

Edelgard hated having to douse the girl’s enthusiasm, but it had to be done. “Petra, the Professor is probably going to be in a lot of trouble because of this.” 

“Why?” Hapi asked, water swishing and sloshing as she kicked her legs up and down as if she were swimming. “He came in here to clean the place up, not stare at naked girls. I don’t even think he’s eyed us once since he’s been here.” 

She almost sounded...disappointed. 

“You know the Church will not tolerate this,” Edelgard sighed. “A male Professor going into the female baths while students are inside it? If Seteth doesn’t kill him, Catherine might.” 

“She could try, but I think Shiny is stronger than she is,” Hapi shrugged, making the waves of red hair sway in the water. “Besides, Shiny isn’t a creep like Sylvain: he hasn’t stared at us at all or made any weird comments.” 

Edelgard fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m certain you would enjoy his attention, Hapi.” 

“And you wouldn’t?” the girl asked, a mischievous grin on her lips. 

Edelgard’s face was blazing now, and she bit down her retort as the door to the bathhouse slammed open in the distance, followed by armored boots clacking against tile. 

“Where is he?!” Catherine stormed into the room, Thunderbrand clutched in her fist and rage simmering in her eyes as she stomped over to the three girls. “Hey! Where is that creep!” 

“Why are you calling the Professor a creep?” Petra asked, confusion on her face. “He is not creeping anywhere. He’s just cleaning the bath.” 

“Yeah, he hasn’t been staring at us or anything like that,” Hapi added. “If anything, the other girls were staring at him until they realized I was here.” 

Catherine shot a glare of pure murder at the Abyssian before lifting her gaze to the door to the private baths. “He’s hiding in there, isn’t he? I’m going to kill him!” 

“Calm down, Catherine,” Shamir slipped into the room, her eyes cool and collected despite the heat. “I’ve talked to the other girls: they all said that the Professor had been ignoring them and focusing on his work after announcing why he was here. The main reason they left is because of her.” 

Hapi waved lazily when Shamir pointed at her. 

“The girls all agreed that Professor Eisner wasn’t ogling them or behaving in a manner that made them feel as if he were here solely to look at a bunch of bathing students,” Shamir continued. “After they got past the initial shock of him showing up, a few were apparently striking up conversations with him while he worked.” 

She gestured to Petra, and Edelgard had an idea of who else had been chatting with the Professor. 

“Besides, we all know that Professor Eisner has no interest in the underage students, which most of us are,” Edelgard spoke up. 

“I’m not underage: I’m twenty,” Hapi grumbled, lightly kicking up the surface of the water. 

“He’s a man,” Catherine said as if that statement was news to everyone. “Of course he’d relish the chance to spy on a number of undressed female students!” 

“I came in here to do what Seteth told me to do,” Professor Eisner was suddenly standing there, making Catheirne yelp and swing Thunderbrand at him. 

He ducked beneath the crackling Relic, then lifted his bucket to block the second swing. The container exploded as Thunderbrand ripped through it, spraying cold soapy water everywhere. 

“In hindsight, that was not a good idea,” Professor Eisner muttered, now thoroughly soaked by his own bucket as its cleaved halves clanked against the floor. “You guys alright?” 

“I’m good,” Hapi nodded. 

“I am fine!” Petra announced. 

Edelgard nodded, not trusting her voice to remain strong as her Crest pulsed with power inside of her blood. 

“I’ve done as Seteth asked, and on time to meet his deadline of the end of the day,” the Professor said to Catherine as Shamir interposed herself between the man and knight. “I’ll take my leave and let everyone finish up their baths if they’d like to.” 

“Professor, you are having some soap in your braids,” Petra said, standing on her toes as she tried to swipe off soap bubbles from the braids she’d done. “I cannot quite be reaching them...” 

The Professor stooped a bit, keeping his eyes locked on Catherine while Petra wiped his new braids clean. 

“There! Much better!” she declared proudly. “I was doing those braids myself!” 

“Thanks, Petra,” he said to her, studying her own braid. “Perhaps you could teach me how to do that?” 

“I would be happy to do so!” the princess nodded, pride gleaming in her eyes. 

“Professor, there will be hell to pay for this,” Catherine snarled. 

“For cleaning the baths like Seteth ordered me to?” the Professor asked, furrowing his eyebrows. “The boy’s bathhouse didn’t seem like it was an issue.” 

“Because you are a male,” Shamir pointed out. “The Church isn’t as open-minded as the Spartans are regarding a male Professor being in the female bath, even if you were just here to clean it as ordered.” 

“I don’t see why it would be a problem: I wasn’t harassing the girls or ogling them,” the Professor said. “I was just cleaning the place for them.” 

“That’s not the point!” Catherine snapped. “Just-just get the hell out of here!” 

Professor Eisner shrugged and picked up the sad remains of his bucket before striding out towards the door. 

Catherine pointed at Hapi. “You get out, too! Nobody is going to set foot in the bathhouse with you here!” 

Hapi sighed and dragged herself out of the water, sloshing all over the place as she trudged over to where she could towel herself off. “Fine, fine.” 

Edelgard sighed and walked after the Professor, wanting to make sure he wasn’t about to be thrust into another fight with the Knights of Seiros. He was alone, unarmed, and unarmored: if they attacked him now, he probably wouldn’t survive. 

She moved outside, the sudden drop in temperature slamming into her like a brick wall. Her fine hairs stood on end as her flesh erupted into goosebumps, and she fought to suppress a shudder. 

Several Knights of Seiros were standing among the crowd of semi-dressed students in the courtyard, and Edelgard noted with relief that all of the white-armored knights were staying far away from the crimson form of Professor Eisner as he spoke to Seteth. 

“The girls said you weren’t harassing them, but you have to understand that you can’t enter their bathhouse while they’re using it!” the aid was explaining, his bruised face hard with annoyance and concern. 

He was clearly making every effort to keep his distance from the naked towel-wrapped students who were plainly more uncomfortable with his presence than they’d been with Professor Eisner. 

“I did what you told me to do by the deadline you gave me,” the Professor answered coolly. “You knew I wasn’t going to be able to complete this task without going into the bathhouse while the students were using it, so I was going to be screwed either way.” 

“Is that true, Seteth?” Edelgard demanded as she strode up to the two men. “Did you give Professor Eisner this punishment knowing full well that he would have to enter the girl’s bathhouse while it was in use, solely to set him up to get in trouble?” 

The students who’d overheard her turned to glare at the aid, who immediately fidgeted from their attention. 

“Of course not!” Seteth tried to say more, but Flayn chose that moment to get involved as she strode up. 

“Brother! Is it true that you ordered Professor Eisner to clean out the girl’s bathhouse while the students were indecent?” she demanded, the glare she fixed upon Seteth even more powerful than any Edelgard could have mustered. 

“Flayn! I...of course not! I-” 

“Yeah, you did,” Hapi strode out of the bathhouse, her clothes stained with water as she wrung out her mop of red hair. “This was your idea from the start.” 

“Brother! How could you be so cruel!” Flayn exclaimed, with the students who’d overheard her muttering in disgust among themselves. 

“It’s okay, Flayn,” Dorothea wrapped her arms through the Professor’s own, and was it Edelgard’s imagination or had her towel slid down her body a bit to reveal more of her cleavage? “Professor Eisner was a perfect gentleman the entire time!” 

“Yeah, he was really nice!” Hilda called out. “A total sweetheart!” 

“He wasn’t a creep at all!” another student added. 

“I wanted to talk to him more, but then Monster Girl showed up.” 

Flayn smiled at the Spartan soldier. “I am pleased to hear that, and I would like to apologize for my brother’s cruelty.” 

Poor Seteth looked like every word Flayn and the other girls were saying were as blades in his body, his bruised face set into an expression reminiscent of Flayn’s beloved fish. 

“I did my duty, and before the deadline you gave me,” the Professor said to the flabbergasted man. “Are we done here?” 

Seteth nodded dumbly, then waved at the Knights of Seiros. “I...yes, we’re done. Come, let the students get back to their baths.” 

Edelgard admitted that watching the man squirm had buoyed her spirits as Seteth and the other Knights skulked away with Flayn following after waving to the Professor, Shamir dragging Catherine after them a moment later. The swordmaster gave Professor Eisner a dark glare, but he ignored her until they were all out of sight. 

“Sorry for the trouble, my friends,” he said to his adoring audience. “The baths are cleaner now, so feel free to resume your bathing. Just watch your footing, okay? I don’t want anyone to get hurt since the floors are slicker than they were before.” 

“Thanks, Professor!” 

“You’re too kind!” 

“Just keep Monster Bait out of here and we’ll be fine.” 

“You’re hot!” 

Edelgard glared at the girl who’d spoken last, who quickly sprinted into the bathhouse to escape her oncoming demise. 

“Hot? Well, I did just walk out of a steam-filled bath,” Professor Eisner muttered, Dorothea laughing as she let go of him and sized him up with a hungry gaze that made that possessive feeling rage in Edelgard. 

“You are just too much, Professor!” the songstress announced, a devious gleam forming in her eyes. “Say, could I ask you something?” 

It was just the four of them now: Hapi, Edelgard, and Dorothea alongside a soaking wet Professor Eisner and his two bucket pieces. 

“What is it?” he asked, his attention now fixed on Dorothea. 

The songstress winked at him and, after quickly glancing around to ensure they were alone, then opened her towel, Edelgard choking as her classmate put her naked body on display for their teacher. “What do you think, Professor?” 

“D-Dorothea!” Edelgard spluttered, about to lunge and forcefully cover the girl when Professor Eisner strode forward and poked Dorothea’s arm. 

“Your body needs more training if you want to bulk up more,” he said in his usual monotone, ignoring Dorothea’s stunned look. “Your abdomen is soft and your arms lean, but I could help train you if you desired to be stronger.” 

“H-huh?” the songstress stared at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “No, that’s not-” 

“I’d cover up: it’s cold and I don’t want you to get sick,” the Professor placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and nodded to her. “Although, I think you could do better in regards to a prospective partner. I’m just a soldier, and you deserve far more than I could possibly offer.” 

Edelgard fought to hold in her laughter as the man walked away, but Hapi started giggling and snorting as Dorothea covered herself back up before someone happened to see her bare. 

“Oh, man, that was great!” the Abyssian said in between her giggles. “He saw right through you!” 

Dorothea gave her a sharp glare. “He probably would have done the same if you’d done it! Did he not find me attractive?” 

“No,” Edelgard cleared her throat. “I think it’s more so that he’s used to seeing naked bodies as canvases of a sort, seeing where to strike or where someone would need to train. He sees it as a portrait of a person’s physical growth and strength rather than as an object of desire.” 

“Oh,” Dorothea murmured, shaking her head as she turned to Edelgard. “Still, he knew that I was trying to gauge his reaction to my little...stunt. He’s quite a charmer, isn’t he?” 

Edelgard nodded before she could stop herself. “He’s good at reading people.” 

“Didn’t he say that he’d never been with anyone before?” Dorothea mused. “At least, that’s what you were saying when I asked you about your little tea party with him and Lysithea.” 

“Yes,” Edelgard nodded. 

Dorothea’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Well, that just means someone has to teach him, hmm?” 

That possessive feeling was back, raging in Edelgard’s chest as she fought the urge to either chide her friend for planning to seduce a Professor or push her over the bannister. 

“I don’t think that would go the way you want,” she said, instead, somehow forcing herself to remain calm. 

“Why not, Edie? You said that Byleth is a thoughtful, kind man, and we’ve already seen how far he’ll go to defend those important to him,” Dorothea pointed out, a wistful look in her eyes as she toyed with a drying curl of her hair. “He’s everything I’ve been looking for, except for rich...” 

Edelgard frowned at her casual use of the Professor’s first name. 

“Someone to keep you off the streets, huh?” Hapi wondered, which made the songstress flinch. 

“Yes, is that too much to ask?” Dorothea retorted with a deadly scowl. “My looks and voice will fade one day and all these stuffy nobles won’t want anything to do with me then.” 

Bitterness and hatred surged in Edelgard’s heart, but she bit her tongue to keep her treasonous thoughts from manifesting aloud lest someone undesirable hear them. 

“Yeah, I understand that,” Hapi nodded. “You want to ensure your future in the noble circles even if you hate having to do it. I heard you were on the streets before you were, uh, ‘discovered’ for your voice.” 

Dorothea nodded slowly. “That’s why I have to find someone here who’ll take me even when I’m old and grey. I won’t let myself be thrown back out like yesterday’s garbage!” 

Edelgard momentarily forgot her anger and squeezed her friend’s hand. “You’re always welcome in Enbarr, especially once I become Emperor. I’ll keep some rooms set aside for you in case you ever need them.” 

“Edie...” Dorothea’s eyes gleamed as she smiled. “Maybe I should just marry you, instead! The future Emperor of Adrestia...can’t get better than that!” 

Edelgard’s cheeks flushed. “Dorothea, that is hardly appropriate.” 

The songstress laughed again. “Perhaps. I’ve seen the way you relax around the Professor, so maybe you already had a future consort in mind, hmm? He does seem to like you.” 

“He likes me, too,” Hapi spoke up, a scowl on her face. “He’ll fall for me, first.” 

Dorothea gave Edelgard a conspiratorial look. “Did she just make this a competition?” 

“Don’t be absurd! Professor Eisner isn’t a...a prize to be won!” Edelgard scowled, fighting harder than ever to control her blazing face. 

“Yeah, but this does sound like fun,” Hapi was grinning in a manner not at all dissimilar to the beasts she could unwillingly summon. “Let’s see who can make Shiny fall for them first, huh?” 

“Absolutely not!” Edelgard snapped. “This is absurd and utterly ridiculous! We are not having a-” 

“Edie, please lower your voice,” Dorothea murmured, making a ‘calm down’ gesture with one hand to keep the other holding her towel in place. 

Edelgard fought to lower her yelling to something akin to a loud whisper. “We are not having a competition to see who can...seduce a Professor!” 

Hapi and Dorothea shrugged as if it didn’t matter, a wicked gleam in their eyes. 

“The youngest Professor in Garreg Mach’s history, who is barely older than us,” Dorothea pointed out. “And he’s a mercenary, for the most part. It’s not like we’re competing for Professor von Essar.” 

All three girls shuddered at that thought. 

Hapi yawned, giving Edelgard a momentary heart attack. “Well, are there any rules or anything?” 

Edelgard nodded, taking a moment to wonder if she was seriously considering taking part in this nonsense. 

Dorothea frowned thoughtfully, tapping her chin. “We-ell, no just walking up to the Professor and kissing him. No sneaking into his room: we don’t want him to get in trouble with the Church again.” 

“One of the secret passages to Abyss is under his desk,” Hapi pointed out. “I kinda have no choice but to go through that.” 

Edelgard frowned at her. “Is that even fair? You can be in and out without anyone realizing you’re in there.” 

Wait, was she actually going to partake in this idiocy? What the hells was she doing? 

“It’ll be fine,” Hapi shrugged. “Coco and Yuribird don’t make a habit of being caught, and neither do I.” 

Edelgard sighed. “Fine, fine. I can’t believe we’re actually doing this...” 

“I know! It’s exciting, isn’t it!” Dorothea laughed, toying with her hair again. “Well, I have a bath to finish! Good luck, girls!” 

She sauntered off, and Edelgard sighed as she remembered her own reason for coming here. 

“And I have one of my own to take. Take care, Hapi,” she moved after her classmate, once again wondering just what she’d gotten herself into. 


	13. From Training to Blood

“Sothis, for the last time, I am not going down to the Mausoleum and cracking the other coffins open,” Byleth hissed at the little Goddess in his head. “Seteth and Rhea already admonished me for defiling the tombs of the Four Saints.” 

“Tombs? Nonsense! There was naught in those boxes but dust!” Sothis scoffed as she drifted over his head. “There has to be more answers! Something we overlooked!” 

“The tombs of Cethleann and Cichol had weapons,” Byleth reminded her, glancing over as the doors to the training grounds slid open to admit the white-haired student he was tutoring in swordplay. “We’ll continue this later.” 

“Hey!” 

“Greetings, Professor!” Lysithea bowed to him, her eyes gleaming with determination as she picked up the smaller training blade he’d acquired for her. “I’m ready for today’s session!” 

Byleth nodded, retrieving his own wooden sword and taking up a stance across from her. “Assume your stance.” 

She obeyed, crouching slightly to balance on the balls of her feet and holding her blade out in front of her. 

“Good,” Byleth ran a critical eye over her, nodding with satisfaction at the lack of errors. “You’ve improved quickly.’ 

Pride radiated from the smaller girl as she nodded. “Of course I have! I’ve been studying the proper forms and practicing them in my spare time! I refuse to repeat the same mistakes from the first few sessions!” 

She’d been too focused on imitating the proper forms of swordplay that she’d read about, insisting that he tutor her in those despite the fact that those forms were for people with twice the reach and height that she had. And her body needed some serious conditioning. 

“You’re pushing yourself hard as always, I see,” Byleth jabbed at her, at which she flicked her wrist to bat his strike aside. “And you’ve gotten better at using your wrist. Well done.” 

“Thank you, Professor!” she beamed, perhaps a little too self-satisfied. 

“Alright, let’s run through the basics again,” Byleth instructed, at which she predictably huffed. 

“Again? All we do is go over the basics!” Lysithea complained. “I need to learn some more advanced forms if I’m ever going to improve!” 

Byleth sighed inwardly: it appears she had another lesson to learn. He drilled her without mercy, driving her around the grounds until she was red-faced with exertion and gasping for breath, her swings slow and clumsy as sweat ran down in rivulets. 

“That is why I’m not teaching you anything more advanced,” he explained as she slumped onto the ground. “You need more conditioning or else you risk serious injury. This isn’t like learning something in a classroom or library: your body needs to be trained just as much as your mind does. Studying the forms is different from actually conditioning your body to perform them.” 

Lysithea was on her knees, dropping her training blade as she struggled to fill her lungs. Byleth stored his own weapon and knelt next to her, offering a canteen of water that had been lightly dusted with magical energy to aid in the body’s recovery. 

She snatched it and drank greedily, water running down her chin as she swallowed mouthful after mouthful. Lysithea suddenly jolted and spluttered, spitting out water as she coughed and gagged. 

“Pace yourself,” Byleth rubbed her back as she kept coughing, expelling the water she’d likely inhaled. “Don’t overdo it.” 

He kept massaging her back as her guttural wheezing eased into more controlled breathing. 

“P-Profes-” she tried to talk, but again regressed into coughing. 

“Easy, Lysithea. Clear your airway before you try to talk,” Byleth said, trying to keep his voice calm and soothing. 

The Spartans had rarely been gentle with him, but he had no desire to replicate their harsh training on this girl. Just teaching her to defend herself in close quarters would be best. 

He still recalled when she’d first tried to handle his heavy kopis, almost skewering herself as the broad-bladed weapon was wrenched from her grasp by its weight. She’d tried his xiphos next and found it somewhat better, though she had complained about its short length at first. 

“How do you expect to fight with this sword, Professor?” she’d asked, the weapon barely longer than her arm. “It’s so short!” 

Byleth had simply given her the answer that the Spartans had given him: “It’s long enough to reach the hearts of my enemies.” 

Both blades were currently sitting with his helmet, hoplon, and dory by the racks of training weapons, waiting to be used again. 

He looked down at the girl and kept rubbing her back as her wheezing faded. “You okay, Lysithea?” 

“I’ll...live,” she gasped. “S-sorry, Professor.” 

“It’s fine. Rest a bit and then we’ll get back into training. I don’t expect you to become as strong as a Spartan but I at least want to condition you further so you can defend yourself with a sword,” he replied. 

“Yes, Professor,” came her steadier answer. 

They sat together in silence while Lysithea recovered, and Byleth found his thoughts drifting to the mission he’d been given for this month. Conand Tower...Sylvain’s brother, Miklan...and a stolen Relic. The heir of Gautier was trying to hide his pain, like always, behind an easy smile and hollow flirtations, but Byleth found it all too easy to look past the boy’s fabricated shell of conceit and shallow romance. 

He’d been used for his Crest-was still being used for his Crest-and he took out his frustrations with it on every girl he could, trying to cultivate an image of a scoundrel that could potentially drive away those seeking to bear his...what did he call them when he’d been talking to Mercedes? Crest babies? 

Byleth hadn’t intended to eavesdrop on the duo, but he’d been patrolling nearby and heard every word. It had been the same with Dimitri and Ingrid talking in the training grounds about Ingrid’s slain fiancé, Glenn. At least he’d gotten some insight into the students, although he had little desire to bring up what he’d overheard to them, lest they start fearing that he was listening in on them at any given moment, lurking in the shadows or bushes like some sort of degenerate. 

Catherine still threatened him every now and then, seeming to make it her responsibility to personally ensure he didn’t go anywhere near the girl’s bathhouse, but he rarely paid attention to her or Seteth. At least the advisor was leaving him alone after Flayn had verbally flayed him alive that day. That girl was strange, sure, but she was pleasant company for when he was fishing in the pond and her verbal assault on her brother had been impressive. 

“Are you up for another round?” Byleth asked Lysithea, who nodded after taking another small sip of water. 

“Ready!” she retrieved her training blade, then hesitated with a sheepish look on her face. “Maybe we could take it a little slower this time?” 

“Goodness, Professor, just what are you doing to this poor girl?” Dorothea’s musical voice made both of them look at the ground’s entrance, where the songstress was leaning against a column, watching. 

“Dorothea,” Byleth nodded to her. 

For some reason, ever since the bathhouse incident, he’d been seeing her, Edelgard, and Hapi a lot more frequently. One or the other were always joining him while he was eating or training or inviting him to tea, and Hapi was continually asking questions that he knew she already had the answers to whenever lectures ended, like she was trying to buy time with him. He swore that Dorothea was making a point of waking up earlier simply so she could accompany him on his pre-lecture patrols, and the girl was intent on chatting him up the entire time. It was almost like they were competing for his attention...no, that was ridiculous. 

“We’re just training,” Lysithea said pointedly, ignoring the girl as she faced Byleth. “Shall we, Professor?” 

“Very well,” Byleth retrieved his own weapon and waited for Lysithea to retake her stance. “Slower, yes?” 

She nodded, then thrust outwards as soon as he gave the signal. He parried and pushed her back, continuing to drill her in the basic forms while Dorothea’s eyes bore into him. After some time, Lysithea finally called for another stop and slumped against a nearby weapon rack after clumsily shoving her training blade into its mount. 

She was worn out, but not as severely as before and certainly not as quickly as she’d been a couple weeks ago when they’d first started training. 

“My, Professor! You haven’t even broken a sweat!” Dorothea chimed in from the side, striding forward with a warm, practiced smile on her lips. “You’re quite the specimen, aren’t you?” 

“Dorothea, can you save your shameless flirting for another time?” Lysithea demanded. 

Dorothea ignored her and picked up a training blade of her own, taking up a stance while grinning at Byleth. “Shall we, Professor? Just take it easy on me, okay?” 

“No promises,” Byleth lunged, their wooden blades clacking together as she parried his strike. 

She was skilled, more than he’d anticipated as she danced around his strikes with grace befitting her former station in the opera. 

“I’m more than just a pretty face,” Dorothea giggled, blowing him a kiss as she parried another strike. 

“You left yourself wide open,” Byleth put actual force into his next strike, knocking Dorothea’s sword from her hand and sending her stumbling back. 

“Ouch!” she tripped on her own feet and hit the ground hard, wincing. 

Byleth set his own blade aside and moved over to the fallen girl, examining her now-swollen ankle. “I was a little too forceful. Are you okay?” 

“My ankle,” she winced, her green eyes tight with pain. 

“Don’t try to move it,” Byleth slipped one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her gently into his arms. “Lysithea, that’ll be all for today. I’m taking Dorothea to the infirmary.” 

The songstress looped her arms around his neck, looking a bit too pleased with herself as she gave Byleth a winning smile. “Oh, my knight in shining armor! You’re so dashing and gallant, Professor.” 

“Take it easy, Dorothea,” he advised, moving carefully so as to not harm her ankle any further. “Let me know if your foot gets agitated.” 

“Of course, my hero!” Dorothea cooed, which drew the startled eyes of students and other passerby as they departed the training grounds and headed for the upper floor. 

“Uh, Professor?” Edelgard walked up from the classrooms, annoyance flickering in her gaze. “Care to tell me what happened here?” 

“Edie! I had a little accident in the training grounds, but our dear Professor is taking me to the infirmary like the wonderful gentleman he is!” Dorothea declared, and Byleth detected a bit of smug satisfaction in her voice. 

“You need not trouble yourself, my teacher,” Edelgard stepped closer, her eyes darting between him and Dorothea. “Dorothea is my classmate: I’ll take care of seeing her to the infirmary.” 

“I am responsible for the injury, so I will take care of this,” Byleth shook his head. 

Dorothea put her head against his armored chest and slightly tightened her embrace around his neck. “I would rather be in the arms of my strong, handsome soldier boy!” 

“Soldier boy?” Byleth repeated, glancing down at the young woman he was carrying. 

Edelgard’s face flushed, from embarrassment or anger, he couldn’t tell. “Dorothea, this behavior is hardly appropriate.” 

“You’re just jealous I’m in his arms instead of you, Edie,” Dorothea teased. 

Edelgard’s expression hardened. “I am not!” 

“I do not think you would be able to handle carrying her, Edelgard,” Byleth pointed out. “She is far too tall compared to you.” 

“I’ll stay with you, thank you very much, Professor,” came Dorothea’s voice, now a little sterner than before as she again tightened her arms around him. 

“I was not going to carry Dorothea,” Edelgard shook her head with a sigh. “I was-” 

“Professor, my ankle is starting to throb from being held like this,” Dorothea interrupted. “Can we get to the infirmary, please?” 

“Right, my apologies,” Byleth silently cursed his blunder and started walking again, nodding to Edelgard. “Good day.” 

“I’ll see you, my teacher,” she answered, shooting Dorothea another disapproving glare. 

“Thank you for being such a gentleman, Professor,” Dorothea sighed as he turned to sidle sideways up the stairs to the second floor, carrying her in a manner to ensure she didn’t hit the walls. “Say, ‘Professor’ is a rather strange thing to call you all the time, especially when it’s just the two of us, wouldn’t you agree?” 

“If you really want to call me by name, then go ahead,” Byleth carefully maneuvered her up the stairs, nearly ramming a monk with his shoulder as he stepped into the main hallway. 

“Hey, what happened to her?” the monk he nearly hit demanded. 

“Training accident. She couldn’t quite walk with a swollen ankle so I brought her here myself,” Byleth answered, continuing past the man towards the infirmary. 

A couple knights muttered to themselves as he passed, but he ignored them and pushed the partially-open infirmary door. 

“Professor Manuela?” he called, frowning at the absence of the physician. “She’s not here. We don’t have lectures today, so I imagine she’s getting drunk or flirting with the knights.” 

“Oh, I’m sure you can take care of me, right?” Dorothea asked, and he felt her twisting a strand of his long hair between her fingers. 

“I know some basic healing, yes,” Byleth carried her over to the closest bed and gently laid her down, trying to be mindful of her swollen ankle. 

She released him, although her fingers trailed down his neck, and allowed him to set her down. “You are such a gentleman, Byleth! How are you so sweet?” 

“I hurt you, even if it was unintentional, and I’ll be damned if I don’t take care of you,” he answered, grabbing a pillow from another bed and gently propping Dorothea’s foot on it. “Are you comfortable?” 

“With my handsome caretaker? Of course!” She winced slightly as he focused and began to wreathe her injured foot in green light, his fingers tingling from the transfer of power. 

“You okay?” he moved his other hand over to her wrist and felt for her pulse, found it normal. 

“Yeah, I feel better already,” Dorothea sighed, the tension melting from her body. “Thank you.” 

He was about to withdraw his hand from her wrist when she grabbed it and threaded her fingers through his, the soft warmth of her grip sinking into his skin. 

“Dorothea?” Byleth looked up at her, wondering what she was trying to do. 

The songstress gave him a winning, warm smile, her eyes gleaming. “Yes, Byleth?” 

He stopped healing her ankle and carefully nudged it, but her gaze didn’t shift. “Is it hurting at all?” 

She kept staring at him, cocking her head slightly. “Hmm? Oh, the ankle? It’s fine, thanks to you!” 

There was rustling from behind, which made Dorothea lift her gaze from Byleth, after which her expression hardened. 

“Well, looks like we saw right,” a male’s drawling voice snickered, and Byleth glanced over to see two sneering knights standing in the doorway, the ones he’d passed earlier. “Garreg Mach’s little commoner whore, trying to bed a Professor.” 

Dorothea’s hand tightened its grip. 

Byleth sighed and tried to stand, but Dorothea tugged him back down and made him pause. 

“Nothing to say, little whore?” the second knight sneered, glancing at Byleth. “Uh, we aren’t trying to insult you, Professor, but you can do better than... _her_.” 

He spat out that last word as if it was an insult, and Dorothea’s grip tightened further. 

“Who I share my time or potentially my bed with is of no concern of yours,” Byleth spoke, making both men flinch. “Now, unless you want either Dorothea or myself to leave you in this infirmary with broken bones, I suggest you be on your way.” 

The color drained from the men’s faces, one of them taking an involuntary step back and bumping into the door. 

“T-that won’t be necessary, sir!” the first scurried out in a manner not unlike a rat, his fellow following suit as both of them clanked out of sight. 

“Cowards,” Byleth muttered, mildly disappointed that they hadn’t taken a swing at him. 

His body was still charged with energy from training Lysithea, his muscles craving action and violence. 

“You didn’t have to stand up for me,” Dorothea murmured, her face downcast as he looked back at her. 

He lightly squeezed her hand, his mind attempting to calculate how to get her mind off of the knights. “Of course I did: I imagine those two were simply jealous that you weren’t flirting with them. I know you could handle them yourself, but I wanted to do this.” 

“I went on one date each with them and decided not to give them any more,” Dorothea corrected. “They were arrogant, deluded, and tried to force me to kiss them.” 

“I am now beginning to regret letting them walk away unharmed,” Byleth muttered, wishing he’d taken more care to memorize their faces. 

The young woman gave him a sad smile. “You needn’t trouble yourself on my account, Byleth. Really.” 

So, this was what lay beneath her friendly, flirtatious exterior...she was pretty similar to Sylvain, in that regard, although it seemed her loathing was focused inward rather than outward. 

Dorothea let go of his hand. “Thank you for helping me, Professor.” 

Byleth reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Dorothea, you’re not a bad person. You’re trying to survive, same as anyone else, and if there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know.” 

“I...I will do so, thank you,” she gave him a more genuine smile this time, her eyes gleaming. “Why couldn’t I have met you sooner? You’re the best man I’ve ever encountered.” 

“Oh?” Sothis broke her silence, Byleth feeling her presence just over his shoulder. “I think the girl has taken a shine to you like the other two have!” 

Not now, Sothis. 

“Hmph! You think you can shush me like I’m some unruly child?! The nerve!” 

“I’m hardly the best, Dorothea,” Byleth ignored Sothis and shook his head. “I’m just a soldier. Fighting has been my entire life. You deserve better than that.” 

“You are just too much,” she declared, still smiling warmly. “I know I said I wouldn’t do this, but...” 

Dorothea leaned over and lightly pecked his cheek, eyes gleaming. 

“That wasn’t necessary, but thank you,” Byleth mumbled, finding it hard to speak for some reason. 

“Of course it was necessary! You’re quite a good person, Byleth: not just anyone would get a kiss from me without first going on a date with me,” the young woman laughed, before pausing. “Well, not that I kiss everyone I go on a date with, but that’s not the point. Say, why don’t you and I go out sometime?” 

“I don’t think that would be appropriate, given that I am a Professor and you’re a student,” Byleth shook his head. “And...I’ve never been on a date before, so I doubt you would enjoy being on one with me.” 

Dorothea gave him a surprised look. “Never?! Someone as amazing as you?!” 

“Like I said: I’ve spent my whole life fighting or training to fight, as every Spartan does,” Byleth explained. “I never had the time for it, nor did anyone really express interest in me.” 

“Well, I’m expressing interest in you,” Dorothea said playfully, a coy smile on her lips. “So, what do you say? You, me, and some quality time together in a place I know in town?” 

Footsteps came from the hall, and Byleth glanced over his shoulder as Manuela stumbled into the infirmary with a flask in her hand, her cheeks flushed from alcohol consumption. 

“Oh, my!” the physician slurred, a goofy smile on her lips. “Professor Eisner! Have you come to see little old me? I like a man who knows what he wants...lock the door.” 

“How in Hades are you drunk already?” Byleth shook his head and sighed. “No matter: Dorothea was injured in the training yard, but I patched her up as best as I could. If you would double-check her ankle when you get the chance, that would be great.” 

Manuela’s smile faded and some concentration returned to her eyes. “Dorothea, you were hurt, dear?” 

“I was, but Professor Eisner helped me,” the girl seemed disappointed by the interruption, but she hid it well. 

“I’ll have you taken care of in a jiffy,” the drunk physician declared, trying to take another swig from her upside-down and empty flask. “Oh...pity.” 

Byleth grunted. “I’ll leave you in Manuela’s...capable hands, Dorothea. If you’d like to talk more, you know where to find me.” 

“Of course, Professor Eisner,” Dorothea gave him another winning smile, then blew him another kiss. “Thank you again, my hero!” 

“You’re laying it on a little thick, there,” Byleth deadpanned before walking away as Manuela tried to take Dorothea’s pulse through her collarbone. 

“Just sit still, my dear, and let me take care of your troubles!” 

“Manuela, that’s not my wrist!” Dorothea yelped. “Don’t squeeze those!” 

Byleth shook his head as he made his way back to the training grounds, waiting for Sothis to berate him for silencing her earlier. 

“These people are certainly unique, are they not?” the specter mused. “Especially those three girls. Will you go with Dorothea, I wonder?” 

Byleth didn’t know how to answer as he walked towards the training grounds, pausing at the door as he heard voices from within. 

“Come on, little heiress Ordelia,” a boy was purring. “You know I could give you and your failing house everything you could ever need.” 

One of the suitors Edelgard had spoken of? Byleth silently pushed his way into the grounds and had to stop himself from bolting forward. 

A tall, broad-shouldered young man was holding Lysithea’s arms up over her head with one muscular arm as he towered over her, the other one holding her chin. His ratty straw-colored hair was unkempt and an actual sword was hanging from his waist in lieu of the ornamental academy sabers. 

“Leave me alone, Erwin,” Lysithea snarled, trying to jerk her head from his grasp. “I don’t have time to waste on you. And let me go!” 

“Or what?” the young man sneered. “You’ll blast me? Hard to do when your hands are restrained.” 

Erwin Auguste Marwhen, a nobleman from a lesser Alliance House adjacent to Imperial lands. Byleth had heard several unsavory rumors circulating about the boy and his family, but nobody seemed to agree on what foul business they were participating in: slavery; black market smuggling and racketeering; kidnapping young women and selling them to the highest bidder, the list went on and on. 

Byleth felt his muscles tense, yearning for violence as he remembered something else about this...noble: he’d harassed and stalked several other female students, but any reports filed against him were mysteriously dropped or they vanished, probably due to his family’s wealth and prestige. 

Lysithea’s wide eyes caught sight of him, and the poor girl looked ready to cry as she opened her mouth, only for Erwin to clamp his hand across it. 

“No, you don’t need to say anything else. Come on: tie your house to mine, and we’ll both benefit from it. Your family will get security and new wealth and mine gets a voice at the Roundtable. Fair, isn’t it?” the boy was saying, completely oblivious to Byleth moving towards his equipment and grabbing his heavy spear. “You’re cute for a kid, so why don’t you let me show you what I do to cute girls? You’ll be begging for more.” 

Lysithea squirmed, her watery eyes pleading with Byleth to help as she tried to push her weary body to resist, but the training had weakened her too much and she couldn’t cast magic. 

Perhaps this would be a good lesson in self-defense? Byleth lifted his spear and tapped the sauroter against his crotch, then mimed jerking his knee upwards. 

She nodded in understanding, which made Erwin snort. 

“What? You want me to do it? Good girl, now just-” his sneering voice regressed into a low scream as Lysithea jammed her knee as hard as she could in between his legs. 

She hit him again, the impact making Erwin loose a stream of profanities as he released her and doubled over, sinking to his knees. Lysithea then leveled her hands with his head and blasted him in the face with dark power. 

Byleth strode forward as Erwin screamed again, steam curling upwards from him as the stench of magically burned flesh wafted through the air. 

“You little bitch! That hurt, but you’re weaker than everyone else here, and you were aiming too high!” Erwin snarled, drawing his sword as he lifted himself into an awkward hunch and lurched forward. “I can easily make this look like an accident.” 

Right, the bastard had now lost his arm privilege. 

Byleth wasn’t fast or close enough to grab the boy, he knew that, but his spear gave him extra reach and he couldn’t risk hitting Lysithea by throwing it. Surely, the school would forgive him for maiming Erwin if it was in defense of another student? 

“Professor!” Lysithea screamed as he thrust his spear at Erwin’s sword arm. 

“Professor? What’s going on?” Dimitri’s voice came from behind. 

“Professor?” Erwin turned, and Byleth’s spear slammed into the boy’s chest, cracking bones from the sheer force behind the thrust, as he moved his initial target to the side. 

Byleth swore and yanked his spear out with a wet squelch, and Erwin crumpled lifelessly to the ground as his sword clattered against the floor. Lysithea ran around the fallen boy and ducked behind Byleth’s armored body, her hands clutching at his crimson tunic as she peered around him. 

“Professor!” Dimitri, Ingrid, Dedue, and Felix ran up, shock on the prince’s face. “What happened?!” 

Byleth knelt by the fallen boy and pressed his fingers against his neck, feeling for a pulse, but he knew there wasn’t going to be one: his dory’s leaf-shaped head had gone right through Erwin’s heart. 

“Damn it, I was aiming for his arm,” Byleth sighed. “Are you alright, Lysithea?” 

“I-I’m okay, Professor,” the girl answered, her hands now wrapped around his left bicep. “Is he...” 

“Dead. I was aiming for his sword arm, but he turned and I couldn’t stop,” Byleth closed the little bastard’s narrow blue eyes as blood pooled from the gash in his chest, soaking his uniform. “Went right through his heart.” 

The stench from the blackened flesh on the corpse’s face still wafted through the air, but Byleth ignored it. 

“That was a pretty small target to hit, Professor. I didn’t even think he had one,” Felix snorted, and Ingrid elbowed his ribs. 

“Professor?” Dimitri knelt next to him. “What happened?” 

“I was training with the Professor when Dorothea came in,” Lysithea said. “Dorothea hurt her ankle, so the Professor took her to the infirmary. Erwin...came in afterwards, trying to...court me.” 

“Court you?” Byleth grunted. “He had you pinned down and was trying to force himself on you. I came in and motioned for Lysithea to knee him in the groin so I could get closer, but he recovered enough to try to kill her with that sword. I was going to spear his arm since I was too far away to grab him, but he turned when you came in. I couldn’t stop.” 

Dimitri nodded slowly, but his face betrayed a hint of satisfaction as he took in the dead student. “I’ve heard many unsavory rumors about him, but since he’s in the Golden Deer House, I couldn’t really do anything about him. We should probably report this to Seteth or the knights. Since you were defending Lysithea and not trying to kill him, I’m sure they won’t treat you too harshly.” 

“Honestly, he deserved worse,” Ingrid muttered. “The disgusting things he said to me still make my blood boil.” 

“So, that’s what happened here?” Shamir suddenly appeared, her eyes cool and calculating as she studied the dead Erwin. “I’d say ‘good job’ with this one, but I’d probably get reprimanded for it.” 

“Not by me,” Byleth shrugged, at which the mercenary gave him a wry smile. 

“Appreciated. Not going to lie: I’ve been itching to put an arrow in the kid, myself, but he never wandered close enough to the archery range for me to make it look like an accident,” Shamir’s lithe fingers were toying with one of her many sheathed daggers, which Byleth had seen her throw with devastating accuracy. 

The Spartans rarely respected those proficient with missile weapons, archers especially, but they had a healthy admiration for Shamir after witnessing her lethal skills with the bow. Byleth remained wary of her, especially since Sothis had had to rescue him from the sniper’s sheer killing ability last month. 

“I’ll report to Seteth, tell him the whole story,” Shamir kept talking. “Professor Casagranda will have to do the autopsy, but I’ll be certain to let her know that you were trying to disarm him when he turned and that you couldn’t stop yourself in time.” 

“I owe you one,” Byleth nodded solemnly to the sniper, who gave him another wry grin. 

“I’ll remember that. Get out of here.” 

Byleth glanced at the girl still holding his arm. “Are you alright, Lysithea? He didn’t hurt you?” 

“My arms are still sore, but that’s probably from your training,” she shook her head. “Although, my knee is throbbing a bit.” 

Byleth nodded. “You aimed too high or too much to the side and probably grazed bone when you hit him. You can use your small size to your advantage, especially if your opponent is too focused on your hands.” 

“Right,” she muttered, although she still looked displeased as her face was screwed in concentration. “Professor, why didn’t you call out to him? Make your presence known? He probably would have stopped and you wouldn’t have accidentally killed him.” 

Byleth paused, his grip on his spear faltering. “I...hadn’t thought to call out. I was focused on showing you a little lesson on self-defense and then he tried to kill you.” 

“A lesson?” Dimitri frowned. “What do you mean?” 

“Erwin was holding her arms up to keep her from casting spells, but he wasn’t restraining her legs. Like I said earlier, I showed Lysithea where she should strike with her knee, to take advantage of his oversight to buy some time for me to get over to them,” Byleth sighed and shook his head. 

Sothis damn him, maybe he was just a muscle-brained brute like Seteth often said. He was so ready to fight, so ready for violence, that he didn’t even consider stopping Erwin by calling out. 

“Guess she didn’t hit him hard enough if he recovered so quickly,” Felix grunted. 

“Shut up,” Lysithea grumbled. “I was tired from training with the Professor, okay?” 

“On a free day?” Dimitri mused. “You really are as hard working as everyone says.” 

“Professor? Is everything alright?” Ingrid was looking at him, concern on her face. 

Byleth simply nodded and picked up his helmet, the heavy bronze a welcome feeling against his rough, callused flesh as he placed it on his head. “I’ll...be patrolling.” 

“Professor?” 

He retrieved the rest of his gear and strode out of the training grounds, wondering just what in the name of Olympus was wrong with him. 


	14. The Gautier Inheritance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to try something different in regards to the fight in Conand Tower, especially since Byleth isn't using the Sword of the Creator in this fic. And you'll find that I am not the biggest fan of Gilbert, though I do admit he changes in his supports with Annette, and I don't think the Spartans would be, either, given that they were raised to be devoutly loyal to their city-state home.

It had been a long, grueling climb to the top of Conand Tower, that much was certain, but it had been a simple hike for Byleth and the Spartans. The cold stone and dark wood that lined the vast interior of the tower carried the relentless pattering of the rain well, fighting the sounds of combat for supremacy. 

“Sylvain, pull back! You’re overextending!” He yelled at the boy, who was leading a battalion of mounted Kingdom soldiers into a second hallway. 

The kids had been given command over squadrons of Kingdom soldiers for this battle, as Byleth had thought that a small bandit clan would have been good practice for learning how to lead troops in battle. He hadn’t expected it to turn into a massive pitched battle in the tower’s upper floors. At least he’d managed to get armor from the Church for most of them, requisitioning an entire suit of heavy plate for Dedue. 

“Why are there so many of these bandits?!” he heard Annette yell in frustration as she and her troops once again began trading fire with mages in ratty robes, sending bolts of fire, lightning, and wind flying over the heads of everyone present. 

“None of them stand a chance against a lady of House Nuvelle!” Constance’s proud declaration was followed by a wave of fire incinerating an entire line of heavily armored bandits, whose screams shook the tower as iron melted from their blazing bodies. 

“Good thing Yuri coaxed his buddies into helping out, huh?” Balthus trudged towards Byleth through the mayhem as the bandit lines again fractured and fled to regroup, leaving their dead and wounded in heaps on the ground. The King of Grappling was grinning despite the new holes in his overcoat and the bleeding cuts in his muscular body. “Where is Yuri, anyway?” 

Byleth shrugged, energy rippling through his body as he took to the battle again. “Last I saw, he said something about finding the bandit’s stolen loot and took off.” 

Miklan’s soldiers formed another heavily armored line in a narrower corridor, mages erecting glowing blue shields in front of them for extra protection. A few stragglers tried to limp away from the Kingdom forces, but Ashe and his squadron of archers pelted them with arrows and added their bodies to the scores already watering the rough-hewn stones in blood and offal. 

“Professor!” Ingrid dragged herself over to him, her forehead bleeding. “We managed to get Sylvain back, but his unit was almost destroyed. They’d been surrounded.” 

Damn it! 

“How bad were his casualties?” Byleth took a look over the battlefield, seeing just as many blue-streaked corpses among the dead as he did the ratty, rusty plate and chainmail of the bandits. 

“Almost total,” Ingrid said grimly. “Only three survived alongside Sylvain.” 

“Byleth! Incoming!” Podiarches yelled. 

“Get down!” Byleth lifted his shield over himself and Ingrid as a hail of arrows peppered the Kingdom lines, screams and shredding metal following while Byleth’s arm shook from the impacts. 

“Return fire!” Dimitri bellowed. “Aim for the mages!” 

Arrows and spells streaked overhead, but many of them bounced harmlessly off of the magical blue shields or sailed wide. A few lucky shots hit, earning screams as bodies writhed on the ground in agony. 

“Phalanx! Lock shields!” Byleth bayed in Greek, his Spartan brothers closing ranks in a wall of tempered and enhanced bronze with their spears bristling over the hoplons. 

He felt another body, this one clad in softer clothes instead of heavy armor, press against his back. That could only be one person. 

“Chatterbox, are you okay?” Hapi asked, concern in her voice. “You’re bleeding.” 

“Just a cut from earlier,” Byleth shrugged. “It’s not deep.” 

“We need to get around their main line before they reinforce it further,” Felix entered the conversation, looking sourly at the swordsmen he’d been assigned. “If we can get a force down that second hallway that Sylvain had tried to breach earlier, we might be able to hit this group from behind.” 

“Where’s Gilbert?” Byleth asked, trying not to let his distaste for the old knight show. 

He was Annette’s father, which she’d told him when they’d learned that he was to accompany them to the tower earlier in the month, and Byleth had seen the knight brush his student off every time she tried to reconnect with him. 

Byleth had been tempted several times to push the heavily-armored Gilbert down the tower’s many stairs, but he figured that Annette would have been very upset by it. He would still like to push Gilbert down some stairs, but only enough to bruise the bastard a bit. 

“He’s still holding off the bandits who’d emerged from some side rooms,” Felix answered. “The boar and his dog are still trying to shield Mercedes and the other healers in the back lines.” 

“And they should be. If we lose the healers, we lose the battle,” Byleth nodded. “The Spartans and I will hold the front line while you, Ingrid, and Hapi go around the side. Be careful: they clearly have someone waiting in ambush for you, so stay alert.” 

“Yes, sir!” Ingrid saluted, then ran off to rejoin her troops while Felix groaned and trudged after her. 

“I want to stay with you,” Hapi protested, her red eyes narrowed in defiance as Byleth glanced over his shoulder at her. 

“We’ll charge the enemy and get their attention off of you, try to buy you time to get around,” he said to her, Hapi ducking as an arrow thudded into his shield again. “Go!” 

Hapi looked like she was about to sigh, but made a herculean effort to stop herself before making a strange request. “Could I get a kiss for good luck?” 

“A what?” Byleth raised an eyebrow at her. “Why?” 

“Come on, Hapi! Get over here!” Ingrid yelled. 

Hapi hesitated, but Byleth nudged her over to the waiting group. 

“Go,” Byleth then switched to Greek. “Brothers! Forward! Let’s show these bandits what real warriors look like!” 

Their lines pushed forward, trampling over the wounded and dead bandits as they went. Arrows whizzed overhead and spells exploded, making Byleth’s stained armor rattle against his body. Adrenaline and energy rippled through every muscle in his body, charging him with power that he’d trained to hone since childhood. 

“They’re coming! Kill ‘em all! Now!” a bandit commander screamed. 

The phalanx pushed through the magical shields, shattering them against their hoplons and plowing into the startled bandits waiting behind them. The impact of metal on metal shook Byleth’s entire body as the resulting crash rattled his ears, but this was what he was born for. Spears and axes crashed against shields as the phalanx heaved against the bandit lines, and Byleth’s battle-hardened body acted on its own while his mind took in the chaos around him. 

The flanking group led by Felix, Ingrid, and Hapi took advantage of the fight to dash between crumbling pillars and into the corridor parallel to this one. Annette and her corps sent another wave of fire over the Spartans’ heads and mowed down a score of bandits, then retreated to let Constance’s group take their place. The Nuvelle lady’s battalion sent a fresh wave of magical power into the bandits, shattering armor and burning flesh and clothing with ease. 

Their lines broke, and the Spartans surged forward like predators closing in on dying prey, punching through the dwindling fighters and shattering their formation. Spears were thrust into bodies, blades flashed, and voices screamed in agony as blows continued to be exchanged between soldiers. 

The phalanx remained tight as their spears continued chewing through bandit after bandit until the few survivors sprinted away for their lives. They didn’t get far: bolts of magic streaked out from the side and mowed them down, Byleth immediately recognizing the dark blobs among them. 

“Is that all of them?” Podiarches asked as the flanking force emerged from the side hallway, looking a little battered but mostly intact. 

Byleth strode forward to meet them, pushing his sauroter into a few bodies that were still moving as he went. “Everyone alright?” 

“We’re good, Shiny,” Hapi said, but she looked exhausted. “Just a lot of knights waiting for us.” 

“You should have seen her, Professor!” Ingrid declared, grinning. “She took charge and immediately led her troops against the knights, blowing holes through their ranks and scattering them.” 

“We chased the survivors down quickly enough,” Felix nodded, his sword streaked with blood. “Their captain was the only one who gave us much trouble.” 

“Damn...you brats,” a fallen bandit groaned at their feet, feebly trying to push his sword’s bent blade at Hapi. 

Byleth slammed his sauroter into the man and left the spear standing up, then reached out and squeezed Hapi’s shoulder. “Good work, all of you. Ingrid, I want you and Felix to change places with Dimitri and Dedue. Send Sylvain up here as well.” 

The two Lions nodded and hurried off with their troops close behind, but Hapi remained close by with the Abyssian mages that had elected to follow her. 

“It looks like you didn’t need much help from our groups, huh?” she nudged him with her elbow, gesturing at the carpet of bodies now strewn behind them. “Were you hurt?” 

“No. Were you?” Byleth asked, frowning at the lack of life further in the tower. 

Was this everything Miklan had? Or were they lying in wait from atop that tall flight of stairs that he could see? 

The rain was still hammering away at the ceiling, followed by the low boom of thunder that made the cold tower shudder. 

“Hey, there,” Yuri’s smooth voice preceded the young man’s appearance as he and his thief squad emerged from behind a pile of rubble. “I have good news and great news.” 

“Welcome back,” Byleth nodded. 

“What’s the good news?” Hapi asked while the rest of their forces slogged through the death that filled the corridor. 

“Miklan is all that’s left: he’s waiting at the last room with a few survivors,” Yuri mused, twirling a dagger between his fingers. “And the great news is that we found their hoard of stolen goods. There’s enough supplies and goods there to feed Abyss for months!” 

“That’s great news, indeed,” Byleth nodded, at which Yuri grinned. 

“Professor Eisner,” the grizzled face of Gilbert emerged from the haze of battle, his white-armored Knight of Seiros escort right behind him. “We’ve managed to remove the threat of bandits from our flanks and rear. Is there any more danger?” 

Aside from the stairs you’re about to climb with an annoyed Spartan? 

“Yuri reported that Miklan is all that’s left,” Byleth shook his head. “Looks like the bandits spent everything they had trying to eradicate us here.” 

Gilbert grunted. “They were better equipped and organized than I’d anticipated, but they were still just gutter rats and thieves.” 

“Careful, Sir Knight,” Yuri said in a voice dripping with false amusement as he gave Gilbert a smile sharp enough to split steel. “You’re currently surrounded by gutter rats and thieves, and I can see every single weakness in your armor.” 

Several of the Abyssians with him snickered and jeered at the unspoken threat, which made Gilbert and his knights close ranks. 

Dimitri, Dedue, and Sylvain chose that moment to walk up to the gathering, their faces grim. 

“You called for us, Professor?” Dimitri asked, his lance bloody. 

“Yuri reported that Miklan and a few bandits are all that’s left,” Byleth answered, at which Sylvain’s face hardened. “I want your soldiers to move ahead and confirm that nobody’s lying in wait.” 

“You don’t trust me, Professor? I’m hurt,” Yuri purred, but his wicked grin never ceased. 

“I trust you: I don’t trust Miklan to not have anything else hidden somewhere, especially since his forces got the drop on us twice with their rear and flank attacks,” Byleth said, pulling his dory out of the body it was stuck in. “Advance carefully.” 

“Professor,” Sylvain strode forward, a haunted expression on his face. “I... I didn’t think my troops were going to be attacked in that hallway. We were surrounded...” 

“I know, but let it be a lesson in future battles to remain alert,” Byleth shook his head. 

Dimitri shouted for his soldiers to join him and then proceeded to climb up the stairwell with Dedue at his side, several of the troops hurrying to straighten their armor or to wipe their weapons clean. Byleth almost smiled at their attempts to impress their prince. 

“Check the dead,” he said to Podiarches, who nodded before shooting a tense Gilbert a disapproving glare and marching off. 

“Why do your soldiers glare at me so much?” the knight asked as the Spartans left earshot to move among the corpses. 

“They were raised to value loyalty to their home and integrity on the battlefield above all else,” Byleth answered. “That you chose to abandon your home and your family does not sit well with them, nor does it sit well with me since Annette is my student. I’ve seen the pain you’ve caused her.” 

Gilbert shuffled uneasily. “I do not deserve to call her my daughter, not since I failed my king and my prince.” 

“You were too much of a coward to stay with Dimitri, so you fled to Garreg Mach, hoping to forget what you’d failed to do,” Byleth tapped his spear against the ground, his shield heavy on his other arm. “You know, I had to argue with my brothers for hours to convince them not to kill you for abandoning your duty and your oaths. There is nothing a Spartan hates more than a coward who abandons his home and those he’s sworn to.” 

“I...” Gilbert’s face drained of color and he took an involuntary step back, seeming to forget that he was heavily armed and armored. 

“I’ve seen you pushing Annette away, avoiding her and sometimes demanding outright that she not get in your way,” Byleth continued, keeping his eyes locked on Gilbert’s own. “If you hurt her because of your cowardice, I will not hesitate to kill you, myself.” 

“You’re already on thin ice for killing that student, savage!” one of the Knights of Seiros snarled as he hefted his own lance. “Don’t give us any more reason to execute you!” 

“Erwin’s death was an accident, and I was acting in defense of the girl he was attempting to have his way with,” Byleth pointed his spear at the knight. “So stay out of this.” 

The knight balked, then growled and started forward to fight but several of his companions grabbed him, hauling him back despite his protests. 

“Don’t! You’ll just get yourself killed!’ 

“Let me go, damn you!” 

“I am not dying because you want to be a fool!” 

The knights knew they couldn’t win. Good. 

“Professor!” Dimitri called from atop the stairs. “It’s clear!” 

Time for this to end. 

Byleth nodded to Sylvain and Hapi. “You two, with me. Gilbert: make sure that our way out of the tower is clear. I don’t want to be ambushed again.” 

“Very well,” Gilbert rumbled, and he led his troops away. 

“I can’t stand him,” Hapi muttered as the knights vanished into the tower. “Acting all high and mighty just because he’s a knight.” 

“He’s a coward,” Byleth shrugged as he trudged up the stairs, making his two students scramble to catch up. “I may kill him one day.” 

Hapi nodded her approval while Sylvain looked like he was trying to swallow a mouse. “I’ll love you forever if you do.” 

“I thought you already did,” the nobleman muttered, but there was no real effort in his voice. “Isn’t that why you keep trying to figure out ways to be close to him?” 

Hapi elbowed him hard enough to rattle the plate armor he now wore over his uniform. “Shut up.” 

“What are you talking about?” Byleth grunted as the trio kept climbing. 

“Do you seriously not see it, Professor?” Sylvain gave a hollow laugh, but he seemed grateful for the distraction. “Hapi has the mother of all crushes on you.” 

“Sylvain,” Hapi seethed, dark energy crackling around her fingers. “I am going to sneak into your room one night and sigh. Do you want me to sigh?” 

“No sighing, Hapi, at least not in someone’s chambers,” Byleth ordered, wondering why he felt so...warm. 

“I knew it!” Sothis shouted from inside, making him almost trip on the stairs. “I have no doubt that Edelgard girl feels similarly!” 

Edelgard? 

“Oh, do not tell me you hadn’t noticed!” Sothis declared, smug pride in her voice. “You really need to pay better attention to your little sheep, do you not?” 

Little sheep? 

“Is everything alright?” Dimitri broke his internal dialogue as the prince and Dedue strode alongside the trio, the Duscur giant the object of many untrusting and hate-filled glares from the Kingdom troops. 

“Fine, everything’s fine,” Hapi butted in, giving Sylvain a warning glare before hissing “I will sigh at you, Gautier” at him. 

“What did Sylvain say this time?” Dimitri asked, weariness in his voice. 

“Only the obvious,” Sylvain shrugged. “That Hapi has a crush on the Professor.” 

He said the last sentence so fast that Hapi’s elbow in his gut couldn’t cut him off in time. 

“Sylvain, you are going to get a monster in your sheets tonight,” she growled. 

“Can’t be as bad as some of the girls that I’ve had in them,” Sylvain said with a wink. 

Dimitri coughed awkwardly at that as the group strode up another smaller set of stairs into a wide atrium of sorts, and there he was. 

Miklan Gautier was dressed in makeshift heavy plate just like the rest of his cronies had been, his unkempt red hair a mirror image of Sylvain’s own. Unlike Sylvain, however, his scarred face was rough and cruel-looking, his narrow eyes blazing with pure hatred as he glared at his brother. 

“You!” he screamed while his face contorted into pure rage, gesturing wildly with a bony lance that had smaller finger-like protrusions beneath its unusual head. “This is all your fault! If not for you...” 

“Shut up!” Sylvain snarled, gripping his own lance tightly. “I’m so sick of hearing that! You did this, yourself, Miklan! You chose to do all of this, to hurt all these people! We’re here to put an end to this.” 

Miklan laughed harshly, almost hysterically. “Oh, I should have tried harder to drown you in that well when we were kids, you filthy Crest-bearing swine! With your precious Lance of Ruin, I’ll kill you and every last one of you noble bastards!” 

His small cadre of surviving brigands backed away from their leader, faces writ with unadulterated terror as they looked between him and the Kingdom soldiers blocking their escape. 

“How do you want to do this, Sylvain?” Byleth asked. 

He had no right to interfere in Sylvain’s fight: Miklan was his kill and his kill, alone. 

“Take care of his friends,” Sylvain fell into a combat stance, his eyes steely. “Miklan is mine.” 

Byleth crouched into his own stance, holding his shield out before him with the spear out to the side. “You heard him, everyone.” 

“If you say so,” Hapi murmured, taking her customary position behind him. 

“Understood, but if you start having trouble, I’m intervening,” Dimitri said as he flanked Byleth as well, Dedue at his side. 

“Thank you, my friend,” Sylvain said softly, then they charged. 

The surviving bandits screamed and tried to throw down their weapons, but Miklan had no such intentions. The disinherited Gautier lunged, swinging his dulled Relic at his brother while Byleth took a panicked blow on his shield before running his attacker through the chest with his spear. 

Hapi blasted another bandit with dark magic while Dimitri nearly decapitated one with a brutal swipe of his own lance. Dedue slammed his shield into a fourth bandit and finished him off with a quick swing of his axe, and then Miklan was alone. 

The bandit chief bore down on his brother like a ram, his heavy armor and thick shield deflecting most of Sylvain’s strikes. The Lance of Ruin was thrust out randomly, its finger-like appendages actually seeming to twitch, but Sylvain was easily able to avoid the attacks. 

“I think it’s hurting him,” Hapi murmured after a few moments of watching the brothers engage in their deadly dance. “The lance, I mean. Look at his hand.” 

Byleth turned his gaze to Miklan’s weapon-bearing hand and saw how tightly he was gripping it, then a burst of red light shot into his fingers from the lance. Miklan’s face was beaded with sweat, and each swing seemed to tire him out more than it should have. 

“Probably the cost of using it without a Crest,” Dimitri speculated. “One can use any Relic safely so long as they have a Crest, but the weapon only truly shines in the hands of someone with a matching Crest.” 

“Getting tired, Miklan?” Sylvain taunted as he continued to jab at his brother, utilizing the Kingdom’s style alongside a few moves that Byleth and the Spartans had taught the class. “Guess you aren’t as good as you thought you were.” 

“Shut up, shut up!” Miklan screamed, swinging the Lance of Ruin like a club. 

Sylvain ducked beneath the attack, his smile fading as Miklan rammed him with his heavily armored body and threw him onto the stones. 

“Sylvain!” Dimitri shouted, already crouching to rush to his friend’s defense. 

“Die, you piece of filth!” Miklan lifted the Lance of Ruin, and Byleth sprinted forward. 

His spear left his hand with blinding speed, but somehow Miklan saw it coming and narrowly twisted to avoid it, his scarred face splitting into an animalistic snarl while Byleth eased his kopis from its scabbard. 

“I’ll kill every last one of you! Do you hear me?!” the bandit shrieked, utterly enthralled by his rage, and then he stomped towards Byleth. 

Byleth sidestepped Miklan’s thrust, then slammed the rim of his hoplon into the brigand’s chest before he could bring his own shield up to protect himself. Miklan stumbled back, cursing and spluttering, and swung with his stolen Relic again. 

Byleth caught the strike on his sword’s wide blade, and his body warmed with shocking intensity from the contact. Power spread through his veins, making every muscle tingle and writhe, and the Crest of Flames blazed to life over his hand as he brought his kopis down on Miklan’s right arm. 

The heavy curved blade sheared through his armor like paper, neatly slicing muscle and bone with sickening ease as Miklan howled in agony. The bandit stumbled back again as his arm, severed neatly just below the shoulder, hit the ground with a clank, painting the stones in hot spurts of bright red. 

“My arm!” Miklan shrieked, dropping his shield to clutch at his smoking stump with his remaining arm. “You cut my arm off!” 

“Nice one, Chatterbox!” Hapi cheered while the bandit continued screaming. 

Byleth had to stop himself from swinging again, from finishing this animal off, and sheathed his sword before turning back to a stunned-looking Sylvain. “He’s all yours.” 

Sylvain was staring dumbly at him, then nodded slowly before his eyes widened. “Professor, behind you!” 

Something heavy slammed into Byleth’s back, metal crunching loudly as the sheer force of the blow knocked Byleth onto the ground. Pain exploded all over, blooming hotly as he rolled over onto his back and lifted his hoplon to cover himself. 

“I’ll kill you for that!” Miklan roared, holding the pointed edge of his shield over Byleth’s chest. 

Byleth’s free right hand hit a spear’s haft, his fingers closing around it, and time seemed to slow. His fingers erupted with electricity as power crashed into his body, a bright red light shining from the side of his vision as he lifted his claimed weapon from the floor. Miklan’s pointed shield descended almost in slow-motion, his rage-crazed face beastly in the ominous light emanating from the shining head that Byleth slammed full-force into his side. 

Everything snapped back into focus, Miklan’s face contorting with pain and disbelief as his torso began to glow from the light of the weapon buried in his body. The brigand opened his mouth, but no sound escaped his lips. 

Byleth heaved the corpse off of him, letting Miklan’s armor and shield slam heavily into the floor as he pushed himself to stand, the light blazing from the Lance of Ruin tinting the world in red. 

“Professor?” Dimitri gasped. “The Lance... it’s...” 

Byleth’s Crest was boiling within his blood, the light radiating from the Lance of Ruin akin to a fallen star as its extra appendages bent towards him, reaching out to the source of their power. 

“I have a Crest, so this should be normal, right?” he asked, feeling the overwhelming presence of the students’ Crests even more powerfully than usual. 

“Um, no, that is not normal,” Sylvain shook his head. “It’s even brighter than when I use it.” 

Strange. 

“W-what is this power?” Sothis groaned from inside. “It’s... overflowing!” 

Byleth held the Lance out to Sylvain. “Sorry, I took your kill. I have deprived you of the chance to clear your family’s honor.” 

Sylvain took the Relic, which continued to glow but with a much dimmer light when Byleth let go of it. “It’s okay, Professor... it’s just... my own brother.” 

The world was back to normal, and his blood was cooling off as the Crest of Flames vanished. He exhaled slowly, pushing through the nausea that threatened to make the world spin around him. 

“Let’s go: the sooner we get out of here, the better,” he decided. 

“Agreed,” Dimitri murmured, his stunned gaze still focused on Byleth. 

“Are you all okay?” Byleth asked, running a critical eye over his students. 

Thankfully, he saw no injuries and nodded to himself as the kids began to head back down the tower. 

“Are you okay, Chatterbox?” Hapi asked, lingering at his side while her fingers touched his arm. “That looked hectic.” 

“It was...something I cannot rightly explain,” Byleth sighed, weariness filling his body. “I’m glad you’re alright.” 

Her face flushed, but a pleased smile curved her lips. “Thanks. I, um...” 

“So, you have a crush on me?” Byleth asked, and her flush intensified. 

“Oh, to hell with it,” Hapi muttered after a few tense moments. “Yeah, I do. It’s just...you actually treat me like I’m a person and you see me as more than just my curse. Whereas other people scramble to leave whatever room I’m in, you welcome me and actually want me to be with you. You’re nice, you’re good-looking, and you actually care about me. So there.” 

Byleth couldn’t help but smile at the fidgeting young woman. “You’re a person and you deserve to be treated like one. If, uh, it helps anything, I think you’re quite good-looking as well and I enjoy being around you.” 

“You fool! You’re supposed to tell her she’s attractive, or beautiful!” Sothis wailed. “You muscled-brained dunce!” 

Hapi didn’t seem to mind, however, if her embarrassed smile was saying anything. “Chatterbox, you are making it so hard to not kiss you right now.” 

“Maybe later,” Byleth shrugged, a pleasant warmth buzzing through his body. “We should get back to the others.” 

“Aw, do we have to?” Hapi frowned, then glanced at the bodies littering the floor around them. “Actually, you’re probably right. I don’t want to hang around a bunch of corpses.” 

“Smart choice,” Byleth grinned at her. “Shall we?” 

“Let’s.” 

They walked out together, ready to descend the tower along with the rest of their group, along with Yuri’s hoard of reclaimed goods. 


	15. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a longer chapter and I did a few things differently from the story, so feel free to let me know what you think of it! I tried to keep everyone in character, but I'm never entirely sure I do them justice.

Dorothea put a lot of effort into her appearance every day, especially when she had her eye on a potential partner who might ensure her a future off the streets. Each man had been a disappointment, to her chagrin, with most of them only being interested in claiming her young body for themselves and marking her off as another conquest for their bedroom prowess. Not that they had much to brag about, if the stories she’d heard were to be believed. 

The only one who actually held her attention and made her feel...something warm and not entirely unpleasant was Byleth. She could certainly see why Edie and Hapi were so smitten with the man, even if the former vehemently denied it. He was so sweet and considerate, and his powerful body was certainly enough to drive anyone crazy. 

But none of that explained why Manuela had all but barged into her dorm and dragged her out into the extremely early and cold morning to go traipsing through a forest on the farther reaches of the Monastery grounds. 

“Why are we out here, Manuela?” Dorothea stumbled along half-dressed in her hastily thrown on uniform jacket, baggy nightclothes, and boots, her hair clumsily combed as she blinked through sleep-blurred eyes. 

She looked like a mess, but there had to be a reason for Manuela’s haste, right? 

“You have to see this, dear,” came the same sentence that she’d repeated every time Dorothea asked. “Oh, I’ve seen them once before, but they should be here now.” 

“They?” Dorothea’s addled mind repeated dumbly, but Manuela shushed her and continued urging her forward. 

Once again, she wondered if her mentor was nursing one of her legendary hangovers that she thought nobody knew about. 

After several minutes of stumbling through dew-covered brush and getting the hem of her nightgown soaked along with her boots, Dorothea began to hear the sounds of men shouting and grunting, followed by violent impacts, clacking wood, and ringing metal. It drew closer and closer until Dorothea swore they were right on top of her. 

Manuela crouched behind a cluster of bushes, not even caring about the stains that she was getting all over her clothes, and motioned for Dorothea to join her before putting a finger to her lips. Dorothea complied, frowning at the moisture seeping through her nightgown from the wet ground while the shouts and crashing of weapons shook her from her sleep-addled daze and made the world sharpen into focus. 

She recognized those voices! 

“Look, but be careful,” Manuela’s voice was almost impossible to hear, her painted lips curved into a wicked smile as she peered through a gap in the shrubbery. 

Dorothea complied, almost poking her eye out with a branch as she tried to discretely create a peephole. She finally cleared out enough to where she could see what was on the other side, even if it was partially blocked by leaves and smaller branches, and she almost choked on her own breath. 

She counted seven burly men within the clearing that opened up before her, whaling on one another with wooden or actual weapons or grappling with each other in the dirt, their long hair tied into thick braids or cut roughly around their shoulders. It was Byleth and six other Spartans, and every man there was buck naked, their muscular bodies gleaming with sweat and some sort of oil. 

They were grunting, shouting, and barking at one another in their mother tongue-Greek, Dorothea thought Byleth had called it- while they continued brutalizing each other in this violence that constituted as their training. For a moment, she allowed herself to be transfixed with an amalgamation of awe and horror by the sheer brutality of this training as the soldiers attacked one another with minimal restraint. 

By the Goddess, Byleth was impossible to take her gaze off of! 

He was obviously the youngest one there, but his muscular body was just as well-sculpted and as scarred as the older soldiers, who seemed to be around Manuela’s age if not a bit younger. 

Dorothea’s heart was pounding, making her pulse roar in her ears as she watched Byleth parry a curved Spartan sword with his spear before kicking his opponent’s side. The other Spartan stumbled, barking what sounded like a curse, and tried to retaliate only for Byleth to sweep the other soldier’s legs out from under him and knock him heavily onto the ground. 

The fallen Spartan tried to roll away to get up but ended up on his stomach as Byleth slammed a muscular foot onto his back and pinned him against the earth before tapping the steel head of his spear against his neck. Byleth said something, and the other Spartan laughed heartily as he lifted his hands above his head in surrender. 

“See?” Manuela purred, her voice husky as she continued ogling the naked Spartan soldiers. “Was this worth it?” 

Dorothea couldn’t trust her voice but nodded in answer, warmth spreading through her lower body as she stared at Byleth’s utterly exposed form, examining him from head to toe while lingering on the length of his member. Goddess, Edie and Hapi would kill to see this! 

Something shifted on the other side of the clearing, and two other Spartans shoved their way out of the brush, looking sweatier and more worn out than their brethren as they trudged into the makeshift training grounds. Dorothea was quick to notice that their partially erect penises were dripping white fluid, heat rushing to her face as another realization came to her. 

“Oh, my Goddess,” she murmured. “Those two just finished-” 

Another soldier called out to the newcomers, making the others laugh uproariously. 

“You’re supposed to use these swords, not those,” Byleth deadpanned as he tossed two metal blades at the duo, making them howl with laughter. 

“Marvelous, aren’t they?” Manuela said in a sly voice. “This is where they’ve been training ever since Seteth forbade them from being nude in the Monastery training grounds, I think. I stumbled across them yesterday after a rather...disappointing date in town.” 

“It’s...something, alright,” Dorothea managed to croak out as her own body rebelled against her, heat raging through her. And then she realized something that doused her desire: “Wait, there’s only nine here. Aren’t there ten of them?” 

A shadow fell across the duo, both women slowly turning on knees soaked from the damp ground to find the tenth Spartan standing behind them, dressed in a white leather cuirass over his crimson tunic and a conical helmet, his spear and massive shield clutched in his hands. 

Dorothea cursed herself for not remaining vigilant, but she was surprised to see a grin on the soldier’s bearded face as he shook his head slowly. The Spartan planted his spear into the dirt and lifted a finger to his lips, then retrieved his weapon and slunk away, barely making any sound as he continued on his patrol around the clearing. 

“We should probably get out of here,” she hissed at Manuela, not quite liking the older woman’s thoughtful expression. “Manuela?” 

“Hmm? Oh, yes, probably,” Manuela murmured in a low voice. “Fantastic specimens, aren’t they?” 

“Yes, he is,” Dorothea muttered hurriedly, making the wet ground squelch a bit as she pushed herself to stand while cold and dirty water ran down her legs. “Come on.” 

She pulled Manuela to her feet, making the woman stumble a bit before dragging her back the way they’d come, fighting the lingering heat and desire that surged through her own body every step of the way. 

After a few moments, Manuela recovered her wits enough to take the lead. “Well, Dorothea? What did you think of our dear Professor Eisner?” 

The image of his powerful muscular body flared before her eyes, and Dorothea found herself nibbling on her lower lip before she stopped herself. “I think I just found a way to win this competition of mine.” 

“What? Oh, your little bet with Edelgard and Hapi,” Manuela frowned thoughtfully. “Perhaps.” 

“All I have to do is make sure that they don’t find this spot,” Dorothea said, looking down at her wet and muddy clothing as the cold sapped the heat from her body. “Ugh, I am going to have to take a nice, hot bath when we get back.” 

And then she’d get herself ready to meet Byleth when he returned. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Byleth strode through the gates of the monastery, sweat and oil still coating his battered and sore body as he jostled his heavy bronze cuirass into place yet again. 

“I didn’t grab someone else’s armor, did I?” he wondered, but shook the thought from his mind: this was his, without a doubt. He knew it just as well as he knew his own flesh. 

“Good work this morning, lads!” Podiarches said, scowling at Rexenor and Urythemos. “Except for you two. Screw each other on your own time, not while we’re training!” 

“Yes, sir!” the men grunted in assent, but both were grinning like madmen. 

Podiarches sighed and shook his head dramatically, clapping Byleth on the shoulder. “See here, lad: never become a degenerate like these two, got it? Bodily pleasures are all well and good, but don’t let them distract you from your training.” 

“Understood, although I doubt anyone would want me,” Byleth answered, at which Podiarches snorted. 

“Please, lad! Have you seen the way the people around here stare at you? Especially the women!” the older soldier declared, which earned a few strange looks from passerby who were likely wondering what this strange foreigner was shouting about. “I bet if you asked any of them, they’d all but throw themselves into bed with you!” 

The thought was almost amusing, but a couple names did come to mind before Byleth chased them away. “If you say so.” 

“I say as much, as well!” Sothis declared, but the annoyance in her voice was impossible to miss. “And what have you to say for forcing me to witness your debauchery?! I am a woman who had to watch naked, sweaty men beat each other over the head like barbarians!” 

The Spartans moved into the barracks, jostling one another and laughing and probably waking up whoever was still sleeping inside, leaving Byleth to walk alone. Well, physically alone, at least. 

“Did you enjoy the show?” Byleth asked the girl in his head, which earned an exasperated sigh. “And this wasn’t the first time you’ve seen us train.” 

Sothis said nothing, but he could feel her stewing in her indignity and annoyance and figured he would just endure whatever lecture she crammed into his ears later. Byleth moved past the shopkeepers and blacksmiths as they set up their stalls for the day, scattering small bands of cats which were then pursued by barking dogs. 

“Hey, Professor! Nothing to report!” the cheery Gatekeeper called, lifting a hand in a friendly wave. 

“Thanks for the update,” Byleth waved as well and started towards the fishing pond, making all of two steps when a familiar voice reached his ears. 

“Hello, Professor!” Dorothea sauntered up to him, wringing a few strands of her still-wet hair away from her uniform. “Good morning!” 

She seemed more cheerful than usual today. Curious. 

“Good morning, Dorothea,” Byleth answered with a slight bow. “How did you sleep?” 

She flashed him a brilliant smile in response. “I slept wonderfully, thank you for asking! And how did you sleep?” 

“Well enough,” he answered, wondering if he should bathe. 

He likely didn’t smell too appealing. 

“You know, you never gave me an answer for the other day,” Dorothea nudged him playfully, looping her arms through his. 

“Answer?” Byleth frowned, trying to remember what question she’d asked him. 

“Hey!” Hapi’s voice cut in before Dorothea could answer, an annoyed look crossing the songstress’s face before she contained herself. “How are you doing, Chatterbox?” 

Byleth nodded to the Abyssian as she strode up, stifling a yawn with her hand. “Hapi. I’m fine, how are you?” 

“I’m good, I’m good,” she nodded “I wanted to ask you something, Shiny.” 

“I need to ask him something, too, and I got here first,” Dorothea retorted. 

“Are you two really going to fight like this?” Felix grimaced as he walked by, disdain written across his face. “It’s pathetic: like watching kids argue over a toy. Any news, Professor?” 

Hapi stuck her tongue out at him, then flipped him a rude gesture that made him grunt in minor amusement. 

“I like this one!” Sothis laughed. 

“Yeah, me too,” Byleth fought the urge to chuckle before speaking aloud. “Behave, you guys. I haven’t gotten this month’s mission from Lady Rhea, but I’ll keep you updated.” 

Felix nodded. “I’ll be training, then.” 

“Have fun,” Dorothea gave him a dainty wave, at which the boy scoffed before walking away. 

“Man, what crawled up him and died?” Hapi muttered. 

“A lot of things,” Dorothea replied, which made the Abyssian snicker. 

“Dorothea, what did you want to ask me?” Byleth started with her, hoping it would ease whatever tensions were between her and Hapi. 

It was always one of them or Edelgard, recently. It was odd but he wasn’t quite complaining. They were good people. 

Dorothea gave a little victorious smile before squeezing his arm again. “Well, I asked you in the infirmary if you’d like to go to town with me one day? You, me, and a quiet little place where we can be...alone?” 

Hapi looked like she was about to either sigh or swallow something that really shouldn’t be in her mouth. 

“I’ll consider it,” Byleth answered. “I have a busy schedule I need to root through.” 

“Keep me updated, handsome!” Dorothea darted away but not before winking at him and Hapi. 

“Handsome?” the Abyssian muttered. “I could have said that.” 

Byleth raised an eyebrow at her, briefly wondering just how they saw him while he was wearing his armor. Were they scared of him? “What did you need, Hapi?” 

“Well, I was wondering if you’d like to take a little tour of Abyss with me?” she asked, her gaze burning right into his soul. “Right now, if you don’t have anything else to do.” 

Byleth mentally checked his duties, which consisted of him grading last week’s assignments and trying to figure out how he could arrange a mock battle between the Blue Lions and their battalions. They needed more command experience and more combat training, of course. He still had time, and the kitchens weren’t open yet. 

“Sure, let’s go,” he said. 

Hapi’s expression brightened immediately, and she grabbed his wrist to lead him behind her. Byleth had to adjust his grip on his spear to avoid tripping over it or stabbing himself in the foot with the sauroter. 

“It’s not as clean or nice as the surface, but Yuri and his guys are doing everything they can to help everyone out, give ‘em a decent place to live, you know?” Hapi said as she continued tugging him around the pond and to the side of the greenhouse. 

She glanced around and let go of Byleth, then knelt and pushed aside a large rock with disturbing ease to reveal a passage going into the ground. 

“Hurry,” was all she said. “You might have to leave your shield.” 

“Not an option,” Byleth answered automatically. 

Hapi gave him an annoyed look. “What is with you and shields? I’m glad you don’t make me run around with the big leather ones like everyone else, but still.” 

“Weapons can be replaced, and my armor only serves to protect myself,” Byleth replied. “With my shield, I can not only protect the people beside me, and I can ensure that the phalanx is stronger than it would be, otherwise.” 

“Alright, alright,” Hapi nodded. “You might be able to make it fit if you go in sideways.” 

Byleth tried to push the hoplon through, but it was too wide, and then he turned it diagonally and barely managed to get it to squeeze through the corners. He jumped down into a passageway barely tall enough for his spear, hurriedly shuffling out of the way so Hapi could join him a moment later. 

“It fit,” he mused, although the tight quarters would make it difficult to move his gear through it and he could feel the horsehair crest on his helmet rubbing against the ceiling. 

“Hooray, I guess,” Hapi pulled the rock she’d moved back over the hole in the ceiling, dowsing them in darkness. “Just follow me, okay?” 

A small flame flickered to life in the palm of her hand and she held it out, sending erratic shadows dancing across the corridor, and Byleth pressed himself as hard as he could against the wall in order to let the smaller girl pass. 

“What, scared?” she teased, lightly tapping the abs sculpted into his bronze cuirass with her free hand. “I’ll keep you safe, I promise.” 

Byleth laughed and followed behind her, crouching a bit to keep his red crests from rubbing against the ceiling. “I feel better, already.” 

Sothis grunted in his head, then mumbled something he couldn’t quite make out. Was she sleeping again? 

“Hey, Chatterbox?” Hapi spoke up after several long minutes of silence. “Is there a... thing going on between you and Dorothea?” 

“I don’t think so, although I am wondering why she, you, and Edelgard are suddenly doing everything you can to be around me,” Byleth answered, wincing as his sauroter scraped against the stone floor. 

“We have our reasons,” Hapi replied. “Mine are, well, cause I like you. You’re a good person and I like being around you. I don’t feel like a freak.” 

“I don’t think you are,” Byleth shrugged, again scraping his sauroter against the ground. 

She looked over her shoulder and smiled, then turned back to focus on guiding him through this tunnel. The duo walked in silence through what felt like a maze of tunnels and tight corridors, rats squealing and scuttling away in the darkness as musty underground air filled his nostrils. 

“Not much further,” Hapi said, breaking the silence. “Yuribird just wanted to make this as confusing as possible in case enemies of Abyss found that tunnel.” 

“It works,” Byleth nodded to himself. “Even I couldn’t keep track of where we went.” 

“That’s the idea, but as long as I’m here, you’ll be fine,” Hapi assured him, dousing her light and plunging them into darkness. 

He could see a faint light further in the tunnel, along with hushed voices now that the duo had fallen silent. Hapi led him towards it, humming softly to herself as if trying to fill the silence between them. 

“Hey! Who’s there?” they stopped at the mouth of the tunnel, where a man in a ratty hauberk and leather helmet was standing, a nasty-looking axe leaning against the wall next to him. “Hapi? Who is this?” 

Hapi looped her arms through Byleth’s. “He’s my boyfriend.” 

Byleth raised an eyebrow at her while the Abyssian guard sighed. 

“Hapi, seriously, who is he?” the man asked, shaking his head. 

Hapi muttered something and let go of Byleth. “This is Professor Eisner. You know: the guy who makes everyone in the Blue Lions run laps in full armor or while carrying giant leather shields?” 

“Ah, so this is the famous Eisner!” the guard apprised Byleth with grudging respect and a hint of fear, unconsciously inching towards his axe. “You, uh, look far bigger and scarier than I thought.” 

“I am a Spartan, so it’s part of who I am,” Byleth shrugged. “Hapi just wanted to show me around Abyss, let me get an understanding of what’s going on down here to see if I can help at all.” 

Hapi nodded. 

“Well...if it’s Yuri’s teacher, I don’t see why not,” the guard sighed. “Just mind your step around here, Professor: Yuri does what he can, but this place isn’t like the surface. Not as safe.” 

“I’m a soldier, so I have plenty of experience defending myself,” Byleth shrugged. 

The man looked him up and down with a wary eye. “Yeah, I can see that, and stories of how much ass you kick on the surface spread quickly around here. I don’t think anyone’s going to be stupid enough to try you.” 

Hapi grabbed Byleth’s wrist and pulled him after her into Abyss. The smell of rotting wood and animal feces permeated the air, and Hapi led him into a cluster of makeshift buildings and huts that sprawled across a central chamber lined with open doorways and more ramshackle buildings. It was a little city under Garreg Mach, give or take, and Byleth saw plenty more huts clustered on a bridge that extended from the central walkway. 

People were watching him as he and Hapi crossed into the town; dirty faces smeared with grime and clad in filthy rags, their weary gazes glittering with suspicion and fear. There were some people who were wearing ashen grey leather armor or jerkins, most covering their heads with cowls and wearing small pendants with a bird on them. 

“Mockingbirds,” Hapi explained. “It’s Yuribird’s symbol. Those are his people.” 

“That’s why you call him Yuribird, huh,” Byleth mused. 

Hapi sent him a bright smile in response. 

“Ah, Professor!” Constance sauntered over, giving him a dainty curtsy. “How kind of you to take the time to visit us!” 

“Constance,” Byleth bowed to her, noting how her loud declaration had made some of the onlookers relax. “I wanted to see how everyone was faring down here, and Hapi said she’d show me around.” 

“Hey, Professor!” Balthus emerged from one of the side corridors, his muscular body gleaming with sweat as if he’d just finished a workout. “Good to see you down here! Did you come to challenge the King of Grappling?” 

Someone laughed. “Please, like this pampered surface dweller can beat Balthus!” 

Byleth glanced at the speaker: one of Yuri’s people, wearing grey. 

“He’s a tough soldier,” Balthus grunted. “He got the better of Thunder Catherine, after all!” 

“Behind you!” Sothis’s voice suddenly rang through his mind and Byleth’s body sprang into action on its own. 

He spun, shoving Hapi behind him with his spear and lifting his shield to cover both of them as a heavy impact slammed into the bronze. His arm shook from the force of the blow, but he weathered it with ease and shoved outwards with his hoplon, satisfaction following from the impact of metal against a body. 

A man groaned in pain, sending a rusted sword skittering against the worn stones. His attacker, dressed in ratty red leather and gleaming black plate, slammed into the ground, writhing and groaning in agony. 

“Thanks, Sothis,” he sent to the small Goddess. 

That rusted blade might not have penetrated his armor, but it would have hurt like hell. 

“Of course I’ll look out for you!” the girl huffed. “My life and yours are irrevocably bound, after all!” 

He smiled at that, then looked back at his attacker. “And who are you, I wonder?” 

The man’s rough, scarred face wasn’t familiar, but he had to have a reason for trying to assassinate a heavily-armed soldier. 

Balthus crouched and hauled the attacker up by his collar, hefting him into the air and glaring into the stunned man’s eyes. “What’s the big idea, pal? Trying to attack someone in Abyss?” 

“Orders,” the assassin groaned, spitting up a small gout of blood. 

“Hey, watch it!” 

“Someone grab him!” 

Shouting came from further down in Abyss, and Byleth looked in that direction to a sight that made his heart skip a beat. The horned and spiked figure was impossible to miss, as was the massive scythe hanging alongside a long black and red scarf. 

Why wasn’t he holding his weapon? 

“Isn’t that?” Hapi gasped. 

“The Death Knight,” Byleth advanced towards the reaper, cold dread surging through his body at the sight of what, or rather who, was clutched in the deathly warrior’s arms. 

“Is that Flayn?!” Constance yelped. “That devil has abducted Flayn!” 

Byleth sprinted forward as fast as his body could muster, making the watching Abyssians scatter while Yuri’s people continued trying to delay the reaper. 

“He cannot take her!” Sothis declared. “Stop him!” 

“Already on it, my little Goddess,” Byleth felt his lips forming the Greek words before he realized it, rearing back and hurling his spear with all the force he could muster. 

The Death Knight turned just in time for a six-foot javelin to slam into his side, making a pained, almost animalistic roar, echo from his skull-shaped helmet. Byleth surged forward and closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, wrapping his free arm around Flayn and ripping her from her kidnapper’s grasp. 

“You...” the guttural rasp from the Death Knight filled the air as he stumbled back, a clawed gauntlet yanking Byleth’s spear from his body and throwing it aside. “You should not be here.” 

“Says who?” Byleth set Flayn’s small body on the ground and kept her covered with his shield, feeling her neck for a pulse. 

It was weak but steady, and her breathing was consistent. 

“We caught him trying to sneak through a side corridor,” one of Yuri’s gang said, nursing a cut on her arm. “If Yuri hadn’t asked us to step up patrols, we probably wouldn’t have caught him.” 

“Get Flayn out of here,” Byleth eased his kopis from its scabbard and crouched into a combat stance. “I’ll handle this.” 

“The girl is mine to take,” the reaper growled, reaching around his back to retrieve his murderous scythe. “You will not stop me.” 

“She is mine to protect,” Byleth replied. 

“And so our dance continues. Who will live and who will die?” 

The reaper slashed outwards with the blinding speed that Byleth had come to actually fear, the vicious curved blade trailing dark energy in its wake. It passed mere inches in front of him as he stepped back, the sheer force of the attack shaking his helmet. 

He had to avoid taking a direct hit on his shield, or else that scythe would punch right through it. Losing his shield would be to lose his pride as a Spartan. 

Byleth charged, using the time-honored tactic of human battering ram and slamming shield-first into the Death Knight. Metal crunched against metal, followed by the distorted grunt of the reaper as Byleth’s strength slammed him into a brick wall. 

A fist cracked into Byleth’s side, making pain blossom as metal and bones cracked. He pushed through it and rammed into the reaper again, trying to negate the reach of the scythe while slashing at everything he could reach with his kopis. 

“Yes...let our strength prove our right to kill,” the Death Knight growled, placing a heavy boot against the hoplon and shoving Byleth back. 

Byleth stumbled, then dug his heels in to catch himself before looking back up at his opponent. The reaper held his scythe in both hands before swinging it down, and Byleth prepared himself to deflect the blow. 

“You are not hurting Byleth!” Hapi’s voice roared, followed by a blast of dark magic that hurled the Death Knight into the wall with a shower of rock dust and razor-sharp shrapnel. 

Byleth held his shield to protect himself, making metal ping as shrapnel bounced off it. 

“Nice shot, Hapi!” he called to his student, rising and knocking the Death Knight’s scythe from his faltering grasp. 

The heavy, unnatural weapon clattered to the ground and Byleth kicked it away before ramming his opponent again. Heavy hands grabbed his shoulder and hurled him backwards, their owner crouching to pick up his weapon. 

“You okay there, Professor?” Balthus strode up beside Byleth, his fists clenched. 

“Could be better,” it hurt to breathe, but he could still fight. 

“Let us take care of this ruffian together!” Constance and Hapi joined them, magic crackling around their fingers. 

“Agreed: there is no place in Abyss for the likes of him,” Yuri declared, a score of his troops at his back as they blocked off all of the entrances while shepherding other Abyssians away. “Good work in distracting him, Professor.” 

“I was trying to kill him,” Byleth deadpanned, at which Yuri snorted. “Is Flayn safe?” 

“I knew I was right to bet on you,” the boy laughed, steel whispering against leather as he pulled his sword from its scabbard. “And the girl’s fine. I have a physician looking after her.” 

The Death Knight lunged, swinging his scythe in a brutal downward strike with both hands. Byleth rushed forward and ducked beneath the curved blade, catching the long haft and the Death Knight’s body on his shield. He threw the extremely heavy weight of his opponent over his head, hurling the reaper onto the ground in an almighty crash. 

Byleth tried to slash downwards with his sword, but the Death Knight lashed out with his scythe and ripped the kopis from his grasp. Byleth fell upon his opponent and flattened him against the ground, then proceeded to let his training take over as he took his shield and slammed the sharp rim against the Death Knight’s helmet. 

The reaper tried to flail, to throw him off, but Byleth reared back and hit him again and again, denting that skull helmet and deforming it with each following blow as metal crunched and crumpled. His chest was howling in agony, blooming with hot waves of pure pain. 

A heavy blow from the reaper’s clawed gauntlet slammed into Byleth’s hip, but he continued raining down blows until his arms screamed from the effort. The Death Knight’s mangled helmet fractured, and another blow from Byleth’s hoplon sent it flying off in pieces. 

“Jeritza?” he scowled at the bruised and bleeding shield-beaten face of the combat professor, whose eyes were feral and manic as his lips curved into a twisted grin. 

“I am death,” the reaper spat. “Will you be the one to kill me?” 

“That is enough,” another voice declared, making Byleth glance up to see a heavily-armored figure dressed in strange robes, their face covered with a red and white mask and a helmet with an absurdly long red crest like the one on his own. 

“Hey, where did you come from?!” 

“Take him down!” 

“I am the Flame Emperor, and it is I who will reforge the world,” the masked figure said, the glowing eyes in its helmet boring into Byleth. “Byleth Eisner... I hope we will meet again under better circumstances.” 

Both masked (one currently unmasked) figures vanished in a burst of light, and Byleth almost fell from the lack of a body to pin down. 

“Damn!” Balthus growled as he stomped forward. “They got away.” 

“Foul wretches! But they were right to flee: they were no match for a lady of House Nuvelle and her allies!” Constance declared, but Byleth could hear the uncertainty in her voice. 

She was putting on a brave face, trying to ensure that the people watching wouldn’t panic. Smart girl. 

“Is everyone alright?” Byleth pushed himself to stand, his arms quivering from the effort of brutalizing Jeritza the Death Knight while his own body pulsed with hot agony. 

“Some small injuries, but nothing serious,” Yuri strode over, a frown on his handsome face. “Shall we go check on Seteth’s little sister?” 

Right, Flayn. Why the hell was Jeritza kidnapping her? And who in Hades was the Flame Emperor? 

“Professor, are you okay?” Constance frowned as she strode over to him. “You’re struggling to breathe and your armor has some heavy dents in it!” 

“I wasn’t cut, but he landed a few solid blows on me,” Byleth grunted, his lungs burning from effort while he slumped back down to a sitting position. “Might have broken a couple ribs.” 

“Get a healer over here!” Yuri bellowed, Balthus’s extremely loud voice repeating the order. 

A man in ratty robes hurried over to them, his cracked and dirty fingertips glowing with white magic. “I know some healing spells, sir!” 

Byleth nodded and set his shield aside to rest both of his own hands on his dented breastplate. “With me, then, and thank you.” 

He pushed his own white magic through his fingers alongside the unnamed healer, cool power slithering through his veins. The pain faded into a dull throbbing and the pressure in his lungs eased significantly. 

“Thank you, sir,” Byleth stopped casting and sighed at the relief that followed. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” the unnamed healer asked, his breath reeking. 

Byleth nodded. “What’s your name? I don’t have any gold on me at the moment, but I’ll send some to you as soon as I can.” 

“Markus, sir!” the man grinned with cracked, yellowed teeth. “Thank you!” 

“I’ll make sure he gets what you send down,” Yuri promised, patting Markus on the back. “Good work.” 

Byleth hauled himself up to his feet again after retrieving his shield. “Flayn.” 

“Byleth, are you sure you’re okay?” Hapi asked, concern written all across her face. 

Balthus laughed. “You know she’s scared when she’s not using your nickname!” 

Hapi glared at him but didn’t say anything else as her gaze focused back on Byleth. “Shiny?” 

“I’ll live,” Byleth assured her. 

“Hey,” two of Yuri’s gang strode over, carrying Byleth’s fallen weapons. 

He sheathed his battered kopis and retrieved his blood-stained spear, placing the sauroter into the ground. “Thank you.” 

“This way,” Yuri led them through one of the side tunnels, deeper into Abyss and its plethora of nose-murdering stenches. 

They crossed over a canal of dirty water and into a small collection of old rooms, one of which had a grey manner with a wolf emblazoned on it. 

“Our, uh, ‘classroom’, if you can even call it that,” Yuri explained. “It’s not as nice as yours.” 

They entered the classroom, which had stacks of old books and a few lines of poorly-maintained desks and chairs, and where Flayn was seated while a woman in grey was going over her with white magic. 

“Does this hurt, young one?” the healer asked gently, running some fingers over Flayn’s neck. 

“Not anymore, thanks to your kind efforts!” the girl declared, a brilliant but tired smile on her lips. “What happened?” 

“I told you earlier: I don’t really know,” the healer said apologetically. “They just brought you to me and told me to check you out, said you’d been kidnapped by some ghastly knight.” 

“He’s gone, now,” Byleth strode forward to check on Flayn, whose eyes lit up with pure joy. 

“Professor Eisner!” she tried to jump off of the chair she was seated in, but the healer held her fast. 

“Don’t move so much!” the older woman scolded. “Your ribs are still bruised!” 

“Sorry!” Flayn looked embarrassed, but she was still smiling as Byleth crouched next to her. “Professor, where are we?” 

“We’re in Abyss, under the monastery,” Byleth answered. “The Death Knight kidnapped you and tried to smuggle you through it. Yuri’s people intercepted him and we got you away from him.” 

“The Death Knight? Wasn’t he that ghastly warrior you fought a couple months ago?” Flayn frowned, rubbing her forehead. “Professor Jeritza said he wanted to show me some new species of fish he’d seen in the pond.” 

Fish. Of course it had to be rutting fish. 

“Why am I not surprised it had something to do with fish?” Yuri muttered, shaking his head. 

“Flayn, Professor Jeritza is the Death Knight,” Byleth said to the girl, whose eyes widened with shock. 

“Truly?! Well, you have my gratitude for rescuing me from him!” she got up in a much slower manner, which made her healer nod in satisfaction, then wrapped her arms around Byleth. 

“Wait, what’s that noise?” Balthus wondered, making everyone fall silent. 

There was some faint commotion coming from the main level of Abyss: voices shouting and metal boots clanking against stone. 

“Yuri! Yuri!” a gasping man almost slammed into the doorway trying to stop himself. “The Knights just poured into Abyss! They’re looking fer some girl named Flayn!” 

Flayn waved at him, which made the man balk. 

The voices and clanking became louder, and a white-armored form shoved the grey Abyssian from the doorway before faltering. 

“I found her!” the knight yelled back. “These Abyssian heathens took her down here!” 

Balthus growled and lifted his fists, ready to start brawling as Yuri’s other people readied for battle. 

“Stop!” Yuri placed himself between the two groups as more knights began emerging with weapons drawn. “We didn’t kidnap her!” 

“Why should we believe you, muck rat?!” 

“Because the Abyssians helped me save her,” Byleth said, striding out to join Yuri. “I came across her in the grasp of the Death Knight and chased him down here. I wouldn’t have been able to keep up if Yuri and his people hadn’t intervened.” 

“Professor Eisner?!” the knights balked. “This rat is telling the truth?” 

“Yes, Yuri is telling the truth,” Byleth said coldly. “We engaged the Death Knight and drove him off, but not after I broke his helmet apart and uncovered his identity.” 

“Sir!” another Knight pushed through the growing crowd of white soldiers, holding the remains of Jeritza’s helmet in his hands. 

“Who is he?” the first knight demanded. “Who is the Death Knight?” 

“Jeritza,” Byleth answered, resulting in startled hubbub from the gathered knights. 

“Send some soldiers back up, now!” a knight bayed. “Find Jeritza, now!” 

“I don’t think you will,” Byleth shook his head. “Some masked man calling himself the Flame Emperor showed up and teleported Jeritza away before I could kill or incapacitate him.” 

“Professor, you’re hurt!” Flayn’s cry was followed by the girl almost tackling him, running her fingers over the new dents in his armor. “Do you have any cracked ribs? Broken bones?” 

“I’m fine,” Byleth said, but he couldn’t suppress a wince as her hand pressed on a particularly tender spot. 

“I’ll take care of it!” Flayn promised, powerful white magic pouring into his body from her hands. “Just hold still!” 

“Miss Flayn, we need to leave, now,” a knight commanded, his fellows shuffling uneasily from outside. 

“Go,” Yuri ordered. “I don’t want any more trouble.” 

“Let’s go, Flayn,” Byleth said to the girl, who nodded. 

“Right away, Professor!” 

“Wait,” Hapi grabbed Byleth’s arm. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“I’m fine, Hapi. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” he lightly squeezed her hand with his own and nearly dropped his shield in the process. “Just don’t get into any fights with these knights, okay?” 

She gave him a wry smile. “No promises, Shiny.” 

Byleth joined Flayn among the knights, and together they strode out to return to the surface. 


	16. Lurking Shadows

Solon resisted the urge to smash this infernal machine against the wall for the umpteenth time, the flickering gems and glowing veins of light mocking as they flickered with life under his touch. No amount of magic or technology would make it work, not even when he’d hooked it up to a Viskam and shot it with enough electricity to fry the cores of a Titanus. The device was currently sitting on his desk, enmeshed in a loom of thick Agarthium cables that channeled power from the nearby energy cores. 

And that was only one source of his agitation: the other was currently sprawled atop a bookcase while a slender yet powerful leg swung lazily back and forth before the shelves, clad in black leather. Two of the mechanical stingers grafted to the base of her spine swayed alongside her leg, the third perhaps resting atop the bookcase. 

“And why can’t I just kill the stupid bitch?” Kronya asked for what felt like the hundredth time, her flame-orange hair splayed around her head as she craned her neck to look down at him. “We could get plenty of blood that way.” 

“Kronya, you know we needed that wretch alive, and now that bumbling fool of the Flame Emperor’s has ruined everything. Cichol is refusing to leave her alone, having that dog follow Cethleann around at all times,” Solon’s patience was running thin, and his enlarged brain was beginning to throb with the beginnings of a migraine. “And this blasted summoning machine is refusing to work! There must be an answer, something that I overlooked earlier.” 

Kronya grumbled something he couldn’t quite make out, and Solon spared her a weary glance to see her juggling her wicked curved daggers from atop her perch, making black steel glitter in the light produced by the magical orbs illuminating his hidden workspace. 

“Careful, fool! If you cut one of those cables, you’ll fry the both of us!” Solon hissed as one of her daggers came dangerously close to nicking a power cable. 

Kronya stopped juggling her blades, slipping them into the many sheathes hidden across her lithe body as she swung herself upwards into a sitting position with her legs dangling over the edge of the bookcase. 

“Why are you bothering with that thing, anyway?” she asked, the lone black teardrop tattooed below her eye almost undulating against her ghostly white skin. “You’ve been trying for months, ever since Mordon fried himself, and you still haven’t made any progress.” 

“Because Mordon did succeed in summoning powerful soldiers,” Solon explained, recalling with vivid detail the shock and awe that he’d felt upon seeing the results of his former apprentice’s work. “Those Spartans are magnificent, for a band of lowly beasts. Indeed, they are wolves among sheep, even with Seiros’s minions harrying them. If we can bring an army of them to our beck and call, if we can unleash them upon these savages... we would not need the Flame Emperor or Thales’s scheming.” 

“You don’t agree with him?” Kronya asked, a dangerous edge in her voice. 

To question Thales was to question the purity of their cause, their revenge against that monster and her children. 

“Our plans have been unfolding well across the centuries, no doubt,” Solon nodded. “The Kingdom and the Alliance were masterpieces in splitting these animals apart and getting them snapping at one another’s throats, but I fear our... creation is losing sight of what she is meant to do.” 

“Well, the plan was for me to masquerade as a student and get her back on track, but that’s not going to happen,” Kronya sighed, her face tight with concentration as her stingers flexed and jabbed at the air around her. “Thanks to that stupid Death Knight getting caught...” 

Solon nodded before turning his attention back to the device, his fingers tinkering with the different dials and switches as he studied the channels meant to guide magical energy. Mordon may have been a fool, but he certainly knew how to build a complex device. This summoner, modeled after an ancient weapon discovered in lost texts, channeled magical power and unleashed it in an orb-like projectile meant to pierce time and space, reaching out across the planes of existence to grab powerful souls and then pull them through to the device’s own world. 

It had clearly worked before, the Spartans were proof of that, but how had it worked and why was it refusing to work now even after Mordon had spent over a decade refining and experimenting with it? 

“Maybe we should remind our dear little Edelgard of her responsibilities?” Kronya mused, a sadistic smile curving her lips as she ran her fingers over the wickedly curved blade of her pride and joy: the short sword Athame. 

Disgust rippled through Solon. “If she was to be attacked, that would raise too many questions and prematurely reveal our agents among Seiros’s thralls.” 

And Kronya took too much pleasure in inflicting pain on these beasts, even if they did deserve it. The glee with which she cut them apart, relishing in their screams... it was barbaric. She really wasn’t much better than these filthy creatures, sometimes, especially after what she’d done in Duscur. 

Their comrade who now bore the name Cornelia had done her part beautifully, but she had failed to kill that worthless Prince Dimitri, and Kronya had been too busy ripping apart the rest of the Royal Family’s retinue to finish the prince. The appearance of Cornelia’s former plaything, the Abyssian girl, had been interesting, but she was of little consequence. 

Hapi’s ability to summon monsters could have been used to bury Garreg Mach in a storm of giant beasts, but she was unreliable and followed the vessel of the Fell Star around like a lovestruck mutt. No, she would not be of any use as of now. 

“What do we do, then?” Kronya demanded, making Solon remember just how volatile the assassin was when she was bored. “I’m sick of sitting around, waiting!” 

Solon sighed and reached out to hit a button on his cane, which began pulsing with an encoded message to one of their agents to meet him in the library. “I’ll send a message, yes, but no bloodshed. Not yet. Now, stay here and don’t touch anything.” 

Kronya threw a dagger at him, which he deflected with a shield of dark magic. It had been a lazy throw, one that she knew he would detect, but he didn’t have any time to waste on her antics. 

Solon called upon his magic and teleported out of the workshop, the cool darkness and gentle artificial lights being replaced by the bloated warmth and blinding sunlight of the surface filtering through paned glass windows. He strode out of the chamber as the guise of Tomas enshrouded his body, planting a thoughtful smile on the old human’s lips as he strode through the upper floor of the faculty offices. 

The white robes, the cracked yellowing skin marred with liver spots and wrinkles, and the gentle eyes lit up with curiosity and the wisdom of old age had taken the place of Solon’s misshapen facial features and dark apparel, easy enough to fabricate with magic and technology, but the hunch that bowed his back and the weight he put on the now simple cane were all too real. Such was the price of getting old. 

He smiled and greeted the creatures who paraded about this den of inequity and filth, those who dressed themselves in fancy white robes and deluded themselves into thinking they were holy and sacred because of the Fell Star, and he hated every last one of them. When he reached the library, whose contents had been carefully chosen, censored, and manipulated to give the foolish lambs information that Seiros and her filthy kind wanted them to have, he found his compatriot already waiting for him. 

The ‘Knight of Seiros’ had been easy enough to replace: the real man had long been disposed of and his body turned into ash, with his chosen interloper flawlessly integrating himself into the role and carrying on with his new life without the Church being any wiser to the change. 

If only those Nabateans knew just what they had allowed to thrive just beneath their arrogant, deluded noses. 

‘Tomas’ could see several other students sitting down at the many tables, poring through stacks of books or other chosen reading materials as he strode over to the knight, greeting him with two taps of his cane upon the wood floors. 

“Master,” the Agarthan’s voice was a whisper in the wind, so soft that if Solon hadn’t been listening for it, he would have missed the word entirely. 

“A fascinating story, is it not?” he mused as he plucked a random tome from the shelf, another drivel about the Kingdom’s honorable knights and kings. “The princess is quite an intriguing character, no?” 

His comrade nodded but said nothing, waiting with rapt attention for his orders now that he knew the target was a princess. 

“A pity that she lost her way along the journey,” Solon lamented as he opened the book and leafed through its pages, not sparing this nonsense any further attention. “It was good fortune, however, that she had someone to guide her back onto her rightful course. A friend who reminded her of her purpose in her quest.” 

“I have not read that story, Tomas,” the Agarthan mused, but purpose was shining in his eyes, along with a slight hint of confusion. “Who is the princess?” 

Irritation flared and threatened to break Solon’s composure until he took a closer look at the knight and the person beneath the glamour. Ah, it was one of their newest agents, who had probably been kept in the dark about Edelgard’s identity in order to avoid breaking her cover. Solon really needed to speak to Thales about briefing everyone they sent to the Monastery. 

“The heir of a kingdom that once spanned the entire world. A girl who is said to have hair that rivals the stars, and eyes of lilac,” he kept his voice down in case one of the students heard and before someone put two and two together and realized he was describing the leader of the Black Eagle House. “I would suggest you take a look at the story as soon as possible, so you might learn from it.” 

The Agarthan nodded, managing to hide his embarrassment behind the knight’s stoic face. “I will, indeed. Thank you, Tomas.” 

“It is what I am here for, my friend,” Solon lightly squeezed his companion’s shoulder, conveying both reassurance and a warning to not fail. “You have a duty to fulfil, do you not? I would pick your approach wisely.” 

“I do,” the knight bowed and left, but not before recognition and purpose flashed in his eyes. 

Good, he knew what to do and who to approach. All he had to do was not draw undue attention. 

Solon sighed to himself and shook his head. This was either going to go to plan, or it would end horribly. 

“Ah, Tomas, I was wondering if you could help me find something,” Dimitri strode up to him, something Solon couldn’t quite read smoldering in his eyes. 

“Of course, what can I do for you, Prince Dimitri?” Solon fell into his role easily, but even he was surprised when the boy asked him for the record of monetary donations to the Church. 

Perhaps this boy was a tad smarter than he thought... 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“My teacher, I’ve been looking for you,” Edelgard’s voice drew Byleth from his training as he paused mid-strike, his spear’s head buried in a practice dummy’s gut. “Do you have a few moments?” 

Byleth pulled his weapon free, spraying the dummy’s straw guts everywhere as he turned to face the Adrestian heir. “Edelgard. I am free, if you need to talk about something.” 

She nodded and strode forward, ignoring the stares focusing on them from the other inhabitants of the yard. 

“You’ve had a busy month, haven’t you?” she mused as she picked up a wooden training axe and began hacking at the dummy next to his. “Rescuing Flayn from the Death Knight in Abyss and now you’ve been spending every weekend since in the Kingdom, fighting bandits for your students.” 

“It’s been good training for them,” Byleth nodded, watching her quick and powerful strikes rip through the dummy with ease even with a wooden weapon. “Although I will admit I have no idea what to do with the Relics their families gave them and they, in turn, gave the things to me.” 

Those weapons were now hanging in his room on display, although that probably wasn’t the way he should treat sacred Relics. Not like he had any other choice, since Rhea all but gave him custody of the things. He couldn’t exactly shove them in the armory. 

“That’s quite unusual,” Edelgard mused. “The Lance of Ruin, the Aegis Shield, and Luin, all given to one man to safeguard. How do your students feel about them?” 

“Sylvain didn’t exactly hide how much he hates the Lance. It reminds him of Miklan and the Crest that has all but ruined his life,” Byleth murmured, shaking his head. “Felix doesn’t want anything to do with the Aegis, yet, given that it was a gift from his own father.” 

“I know they weren’t quite close, but does Felix truly harbor that much resentment towards Sir Rodrigue?” Edelgard asked, ceasing in butchering her poor dummy to turn her calculating gaze upon Byleth. 

“He does. His father means well, but the man is too wrapped up in his ideals and commitment to a dead king to see why Felix dislikes him so much,” Byleth leaned on his spear. “Honoring the bravery of the dead is one thing, but to say that a warrior is great only because of the way they died is an insult to their memory.” 

“What do Spartans believe about death?” Edelgard asked, curiosity replacing the calculation in her gaze. 

“There is a paradise for those who are worthy of being sent there. It’s called Elysium,” Byleth rattled his head to recall what his Greek brethren had told him. “The dead are judged by all of their deeds in life by the god of the dead, Hades, and if they are deemed just and forthright, they are sent to Elysium. Those who performed terrible deeds and led wicked lives are sent to the Fields of Punishment, where they suffer for eternity for their evil.” 

“Paradise or Punishment,” Edelgard murmured, drumming her fingers against her axe’s handle. “Rather straightforward, is it not?” 

“Perhaps, but there is also Asphodel,” Byleth continued. “Those who aren’t deemed worthy of Elysium or the Fields of Punishment are sent here, where they spend eternity in a haze without any memory of who they were in life.” 

Edelgard’s expression hardened. “I think I understand. So, if you have done neither enough good nor enough harm and lived a life of anonymity, then you are sentenced to be just as forgettable in death as you were in life.” 

Byleth frowned as he pondered her words. “That’s a good way of putting it.” 

“What do you think you’re worthy of, my teacher?” Edelgard’s next question made him pause. “Do you think yourself as a hero worthy of Elysium?” 

Did he? 

“No, I don’t,” Byleth shook his head. “I’m just a soldier: I’m no hero.” 

The princess’s expression softened, her hand reaching out before she caught herself. “Well, Dorothea and a few others, myself included, would certainly disagree. You should know that she’s currently attempting to write a short opera about your heroics in Aileil from when you and your students defended Ingrid from her black-hearted suitor. That was last weekend, was it not?” 

Byleth felt his lips twitch with what he now knew was amusement, and even Sothis started giggling inside of his mind. “Is she seriously doing that?” 

Edelgard was staring at him, seemingly transfixed by something, and she started blinking to recollect herself when Byleth repeated his question. “Y-yes, my teacher. Dorothea has not once stopped talking about how you single-handedly fought your way through a small army of hired thugs to attack Ingrid’s unsavory suitor.” 

“Well, he kept calling more reinforcements to the battle and needed to be dealt with, and I was the only one who wasn’t severely affected by the heat,” Byleth murmured, suddenly extremely self-conscious as embarrassment rippled through him. “The mercenaries scattered the second the one paying them fell, so the students were spared from having to fight too many of them.” 

Edelgard nodded. “Dorothea did tell me that your students were quite...unprepared for the extreme heat, being from a colder clime and all. What made you decide to cross through Aileil, anyway?” 

“Speed,” Byleth sighed, recalling all too well how poor Mercedes had nearly fainted from the hellish heat strangling Aileil. “Night was falling and we needed to take a shorter route from Galatea territory to get back to the monastery. I feared we would be followed by that merchant and hoped that Aileil would act as a deterrent. Obviously, it didn’t.” 

Annette had had to almost drag her best friend the entire way, getting help only from Dimitri after he and Dedue had wiped out a small holdout of mercenaries who hadn’t fled. The rest of them could barely use their weapons as they were buffeted by volcanic heat and acidic air that Byleth had spent the entire trek out of Aileil purging from their bodies. Dorothea had fared slightly better, but even she had almost succumbed to the fumes. 

Edelgard nodded again in understanding. “I see. What did you think of Aileil, my teacher?” 

“We should return there and work on improving their endurance as well as build up their tolerance for heat,” Byleth said immediately, which made Edelgard’s eyes widen. “It would be an excellent place to train and strengthen one’s body.” 

The students who were pretending that they weren’t listening in on the conversation balked, horrified whispers almost being lost among clattering equipment and yelps of pain as wooden weapons were dropped or smacked into abruptly weakened guards. 

“Training?! In Aileil?! Is he mad?!” 

“I am so glad I don’t have to train with this maniac...” 

“I thought his training was horrifying before, but this is ridiculous!” 

“My leg!” 

Byleth ignored them as he ran scenarios through his mind. “If my students were to get used to the environment of Aileil, I could condition them to run in smallclothes before gradually covering themselves up in heavier clothing and even armor. Their bodies would become stronger and hardier as a result, and perhaps exposure to the heat would allow them to become accustomed to extreme temperatures since they’re already used to the cold of Faerghus.” 

Edelgard actually took a step away from him, horror flitting through her widened eyes. 

“What? I’m not going to make them do anything too dangerous like what the Spartans did to me,” Byleth frowned. “I’m not trying to train them as Spartan soldiers.” 

“Um, my teacher, exactly how dangerous was your training with the Spartans?” Edelgard’s voice indicated that she really didn’t want to know the answer but felt compelled to ask, anyway. 

“I was fighting wolves and bears by the time I was eight, climbing cliffs barehanded and running on beaches of jagged stone to toughen up my hands and feet, and I spent entire days drilling while my instructors beat me with sticks to acclimate me to pain,” Byleth listed. 

The training yard had fallen completely silent, save for the groaning of the kid whose leg had been busted by a wooden lance. 

Edelgard’s mouth opened and closed in a rather precise imitation of one of the pond’s fish before she clenched her jaw to stop herself. 

“I would frequently be sent into the forest to survive on my own for days with no weapons or clothes,” Byleth mused as the memories came to him. “Other times, I had to climb trees in full armor with a hoplon strapped to my back. I’ve spent nights in rain, mud and snow with nothing but a cloak and sometimes had to march for miles with heavy rocks strapped to my body.” 

“Holy Goddess,” someone whispered. 

“How the hell is this guy even alive?” another voice gasped. 

“No wonder he can beat the crap out of the Knights of Seiros,” someone else muttered. “These Spartans are insane.” 

Edelgard swallowed, and he caught a glimpse of her hands trembling before she placed them behind her back. “That’s...good that you aren’t replicating your training with your students. I do not think they would survive it.” 

“Dimitri might,” Byleth shrugged. “His Crest gives him inhuman strength.” 

“Let’s not find out,” Edelgard said quickly. 

Fair enough, and Byleth had no intention of killing the guy. 

A strange expression flickered across Edelgard’s face as her gaze roamed over his torso, as if she was looking at what lay underneath his armor. “It’s little wonder that you’re so strong if you had to endure such hellish training. I can only imagine the pain you suffered...” 

“It’s made me stronger, and I’m grateful for it,” Byleth said. “It lets me fight when my students cannot, and I can protect them when they cannot protect themselves.” 

“Like in Aileil,” Edelgard sighed, shaking her head. “My teacher, would you care to walk with me? I’d like to talk to you without an audience.” 

She directed a glare at said audience, who looked everywhere but at her. 

Byleth retrieved his shield from behind the dummy and nodded. “Lead the way.” 

He followed Edelgard out of the training grounds and into the monastery, her back stiff and straight as her long white hair flowed behind her. She looked so regal and imperious, the perfect princess of a powerful Empire. 

“Edelgard, what did you want to talk about?” Byleth asked after finally managing to tear his gaze from her, knowing full well that Sothis would enjoy teasing him about it later. 

“I wanted to ask your opinion on something,” she said after several moments of silent deliberation. 

Byleth remained silent as he continued to trail behind the princess, waiting for her to elaborate and actually ask her question. 

“What are your thoughts on the Gautier family?” she finally asked, her question making Byleth frown. 

“Do you mean Sylvain?” 

Edelgard stopped, and Byleth realized that they had come to the cemetery where he’d first met Hapi. “I mean everything that happened with Miklan. Margrave Gautier disowned him because Sylvain had a Crest and Miklan didn’t. Does that seem right to you?” 

Oh, that. It was easy enough to answer. 

“No, it isn’t,” Byleth shook his head. “I don’t approve of what happened to either of them, especially since Miklan turned into a bandit who murdered hundreds of people before we killed him.” 

“Precisely,” Edelgard nodded. “I believe people should rise and fall by their own merits, and who knows what good Miklan could have done if his disinheritance hadn’t driven him to murder and pillage.” 

“He was a capable military leader. His bandits were practically a private army,” Byleth recalled. 

“Imagine how much good could have been done with such power if he hadn’t been unfairly treated because of his lack of a Crest. I’m sure you’ve seen many examples in the Kingdom as to how they obsess over Crests and place absurd measures in place to keep the Crest-worshipping nobles in power?” 

There was barely contained rage in her voice and gleaming in her eyes, her fists tightly clenched against her red leggings. Then she calmed down, her rage replaced by her imperious and controlled mask. 

Byleth merely nodded at her question. “Ingrid’s father is all but placing the future of their House on her shoulders because of her Crest.” 

“Little more than a prize mare to breed more potential Crest-bearing heirs,” Edelgard sighed. “It’s wretched and disgusting.” 

“Why ask me all of this?” Byleth asked, wondering just why she had so much hatred for Crests and the Kingdom’s policies. 

Edelgard fidgeted for a moment. “Well, you are Dimitri’s teacher and you’ve fought alongside him for months. You are close, aren’t you?” 

“Not particularly,” Byleth admitted. 

He’d spoken to the students of the Blue Lions frequently while tutoring them and had a good idea of their likes, dislikes, and ideals, but his interactions with Dimitri had been mostly formal and strictly educational. Or he was putting them through their paces on the training grounds. 

“Really? That’s surprising: I thought you were closer, given how well you fought together,” Edelgard frowned, a curious expression on her face. 

“I suppose,” Byleth frowned, wondering if he should spend more time trying to get to know the Prince of Faerghus. “If anything, I’m closer to you and Hapi.” 

A faint pink tinted Edelgard’s cheeks and a rather pleased smile curved her lips. “Well, I suppose I couldn’t complain about that, could I?” 

Byleth felt his lips curve into a smile on its own, and Edelgard stared at him again like she had earlier. “What?” 

“F-forgive me, my teacher,” Edelgard averted her gaze. “Your smile is just...captivating. I find it difficult to look away.” 

“So you’ve said before,” Byleth recalled his tea parties with her and Lysithea. “Your smiles are nice, too.” 

Edelgard’s pink face turned even redder. “Thank you. U-um, back to what I was talking about: I wanted to know what your thoughts were on the Crest system and the nobility.” 

“As a mercenary, nobles often hired us and me to deal with problems plaguing their houses that they didn’t want to deal with themselves. Bandits, runaway heirs, promiscuous former lovers that weren’t supposed to be on the property, and so on. They were often arrogant, sure of themselves, and they wanted everyone to bend to their will just because of their families,” Byleth mused. “But I often found talented people who weren’t nobles but who had little opportunity to grow because they didn’t have noble blood or whatnot. It...annoyed me, and I think that’s why I like being around Dorothea so much.” 

“Because she’s a talented commoner who’s gotten this far because of her own hard work?” Edelgard mused, nodding with a rather fond smile on her lips. “I enjoy her company as well, although I fear she is fonder of you than she is of me.” 

“She’s a good person,” Byleth nodded. 

“Professor, I’ve been looking for you,” Dedue’s deep voice preceded the large man’s appearance as he strode up to them. “Am I interrupting?” 

“What do you need?” Byleth asked the giant warrior, pleased to see how his body was becoming more muscular as a result of his training and the battles he’d endured. 

“Have you seen His Highness?” Dedue asked, his dark eyes peering deep into Byleth’s very soul. “I cannot find him anywhere.” 

“Have you tried the library?” Edelgard asked. “I thought I saw him there earlier.” 

“Ah, thank you, Edelgard,” the large man bowed. 

“How have your flowers been faring in the greenhouse, Dedue?” Byleth asked, not missing the pride that shone in his eyes. 

“Very well, thank you. I appreciated the help you’ve been giving me. I’ll see you in class, Professor,” Dedue walked away, leaving them alone. 

“Flowers?” Edelgard asked after the Duscur giant had left. 

“He’s gifted with plants and whatnot,” Byleth explained. “I’ve helped him around the greenhouse a few times while he spoke a bit about Duscur.” 

“Dedue is much stronger than he was at the year’s beginning,” Edelgard noted. “I can see how well your training is working for him.” 

“The others are similar, for the most part,” Byleth nodded. “Annette, Mercedes, Hapi, and Constance are more attuned to their magic but they aren’t as physically strong as the others.” 

“We’re going to have our work cut out for us for next month’s Battle of the Eagle and Lion,” Edelgard mused as she eyed Byleth again. “Especially if you’re taking to the field with the other Spartans.” 

“Podiarches and my other brethren aren’t joining,” Byleth shook his head. “Rhea forbade them from participating in an effort to keep the mock battle as fair as possible.” 

Edelgard gave a small, wry smile at that. “I don’t know if that will help us much, given that we still have you to contend with.” 

“And my students,” Byleth felt the need to remind her. 

“And your students, yes,” Edelgard amended, but her gaze never left him. 

He almost felt like she was staring into his very soul. 

She cleared her throat after a moment. “Thank you for giving me your time, my teacher. I have much to do, so I’ll have to take my leave for now.” 

“Of course. Good luck to you,” Byleth turned away from her and walked up the stairs to the upper level while Edelgard stared at the grave of the woman who had apparently been his mother. 

Sitri Eisner... he’d asked his father who she was and he’d explained that Sitri had been his mother who’d died during childbirth. Byleth didn’t know how to feel about the information, but he pushed it away as he walked towards the academy grounds. 

He moved through the gathering hall and into the academy, itself, pausing when Lysithea approached him. 

“Professor, do you have time to train right now?” she asked, excitement gleaming in her eyes. “I’ve been hoping to condition myself more with you.” 

Byleth nodded. “Certainly. I’d be glad to train with you.” 

As they walked towards the training grounds, Byleth saw a Knight of Seiros watching them, staring intently at Lysithea before turning and walking away. 

Strange, but he had training to take care of. 


	17. A Shield's Purpose

Once upon a time, the Bronze Demon had had a use for fear. If his enemies were afraid of him, they would be reckless during combat, or they would throw down their weapons and surrender without a fight. 

Once upon a time, he didn’t care if people were afraid of him. Now, however...if those who feared him were his own students, then he didn’t want people to be afraid. 

Mercedes and Annette had grown even closer after Aileil, becoming nigh inseparable whenever Byleth had seen them and yet they quickly made excuses to be elsewhere whenever he tried to speak with them or invited them to dine. Ingrid spent more time in the stables, learning how to ride a pegasus while Sylvain focused on his equestrian skills, neither of which Byleth was familiar with and every time he went to talk to the students, they would mount their respective beasts and say they had practice before galloping off even if it was clear they’d just returned from riding. 

Dedue was, well, Dedue, and Felix had stopped challenging Byleth to sparring matches, hesitating whenever Byleth tried to talk to him before claiming he was needed elsewhere. Ashe put his former past as a thief to good use, slipping through the monastery’s passages with ease in an attempt to put distance between him and the Bronze Demon whenever they weren’t in class or tutoring sessions. 

Only Dimitri made any attempt to feign normalcy, but the prince was spending more and more time trying to teach the orphans around the monastery how to defend themselves. 

The Ashen Wolves had been effectively locked down in Abyss, with anyone from the underground being forcibly returned to Abyss by Rhea’s mandate if they were found in the Monastery. Byleth did have to kick a few bounty hunters out of Garreg Mach after they’d started harassing students in an effort to learn where Balthus was hiding, so at least that had been a welcome distraction. He also hadn’t seen Hapi since he’d rescued Flayn from Jeritza, but he’d heard someone attempting to access the trapdoor in his room a few times. 

He wanted to talk to her about what she’d told him in Conand Tower, to discuss what they might do now. 

Byleth’s bronze armor felt heavier than usual upon his body, the fibers of his crimson tunic itchier as he followed his chosen patrol route around the Academy, his hoplon and dory clutched in his hands. The day was cool and the air was still, leaving the students to attempt to bundle themselves up more to retain body heat. 

The Battle of the Eagle and Lion was next week, so Byleth had eased up on their training rather than intensifying it in order to ensure that he wouldn’t needlessly injure his kids before the tournament. 

He paused: his kids? Pride and something else warmed his chest, and Byleth felt his lips curl into a small smile. Yeah, they were his kids, and he would do everything he could to protect them when they couldn’t protect themselves. 

“You really have changed, haven’t you?” Sothis mused inside of his mind. “It’s been fun watching you grow from an emotionless soldier to a man who cares about his little flock.” 

“Perhaps I have you to thank for that, Sothis,” Byleth mused, at which a wave of pride that wasn’t his own surged through him. “I owe you much.” 

“It’s no surprise, is it? I owe you much as well, and we are bound together, are we not?” Sothis purred. “I’ve grown quite fond of you and the little ones, if I must admit it.” 

Byleth continued walking, turned a corner and saw Ingrid talking to Dorothea in front of the dorms, the knightly girl gesturing animatedly with her hands as if describing something while the songstress nodded excitedly. 

Perfect. 

He strode forward, not wanting to call out and interrupt whatever Ingrid was saying as he approached the two girls. 

“Okay, Mercedes said she can make it, but we have to get some more of the supplies ourselves,” Ingrid was saying once Byleth got close enough to make out her words. “She’s having a hard time trying to make it red, and even Ashe can’t quite get the combination right. The recipe books aren’t helping, much.” 

Recipe? What were they up to? 

Dorothea opened her mouth to speak but her words faltered as she caught sight of Byleth behind them. “Oh, Professor! It’s wonderful to see you!” 

“Professor?!” Ingrid spun, coughing as she took a step back as if to hide behind her companion. 

“Wait, please,” Byleth would have reached out to halt her if he hadn’t been holding his spear, so he just leaned the weapon against a nearby column and lifted his hand in a gesture of peace. “I just want to ask you something, if that’s okay.” 

The two girls shared a concerned glance, but Ingrid nodded as she stepped forward. 

“Ingrid, are you and the other Blue Lions afraid of me?” the words were surprisingly hard to push out, and the way his heart sank in his chest only made it more difficult to speak. 

Ingrid blinked. “Afraid of you?” 

“You’ve all been avoiding me like I have a plague,” Byleth said, absently tapping the rim of his hoplon against his greaves. “And whenever I try to talk to you outside of class, you make excuses to be elsewhere and flee. If you fear that I will hurt you...” 

“No!” Ingrid blurted, shock written plainly across her face. “No, we’re not afraid of you at all, Professor! We know you’d never try to seriously harm us!” 

Dorothea nudged the other girl. “I thought you said you guys were being subtle.” 

“They don’t do subtle very well, aside from Ashe,” Byleth said, confusion now pushing through his own concern. “You’re not afraid of me because of Aileil?” 

Ingrid shook her head vehemently, nearly smacking Dorothea with her braid. “No, by the Goddess, no! You were incredible during that battle, especially since we were reeling from the heat...I’m sorry we couldn’t have done more.” 

“You all did plenty for being as out of your element as you were,” Byleth assured her, the weight from his heart slowly lifting. “And...I’d felt responsible for that blunder. I’d hoped that your former suitor wouldn’t follow us through that hell, and I took it upon myself to take on the worst of the fighting because my decision impacted you all so much.” 

“You were incredible,” Dorothea added her voice to the conversation. “Seriously, Byleth, your charge against that no-good jerk and his entourage was a scene that operas are made for!” 

Ingrid raised an eyebrow at the songstress. “Since when are you on a first-name basis with Professor Eisner?” 

“I don’t have any issues with it if you want to call me Byleth as well,” Byleth shrugged, but Ingrid fidgeted. 

“You’re my professor, so it wouldn’t be proper if I didn’t address you as such. I know you’ve listened to me talk about some of my, um, courtship issues regarding my father’s desire for an heir, but I’d much rather call you Professor,” the girl explained. 

“That’s fine with me,” Byleth nodded, at which she gave a relieved smile. 

She was a stickler about that kind of thing, but he found it somewhat endearing after all this time. 

“Alright, so why is everyone avoiding me?” Byleth asked, and the girls’ hesitation returned full force. 

What were they trying to hide from him? 

Dimitri chose that moment to appear, racing forward and quickly placing himself into the group. “Professor, there you are! I’ve been wanting to talk to you!” 

This seemed a little too convenient... 

“What did you need?” Byleth asked, shifting his attention from the two girls long enough to hear their hurried footsteps as they fled. 

“I’ve been wanting to thank you for all the help you’ve given us this past month,” Dimitri said, fiddling with the hilt of his sword. “They might not say it, but Ingrid, Sylvain and Felix are truly grateful for what you’ve done for them.” 

Byleth nodded, making his helmet shift on his head. “You’re all my students, and I am more than happy to help you with whatever you need.” 

“You know, I once thought that you were cold, emotionless and didn’t care about killing whoever got in your way,” Dimitri mumbled, an embarrassed look on his face. “I will admit that I was afraid of you at first.” 

“At first?” Byleth repeated, his lips curving into a grin. 

Dimitri nodded, rubbing the back of his head. “You were a terrifying presence: a professional soldier whose face is barely visible under his helmet, and you carried your shield and spear with you everywhere you went. In battle, you and the other Spartans were fearless, locking shields and taking on everyone who challenged us without hesitation. It was awe-inspiring, if I’m being honest.” 

“We are trained not just to fight without mercy but to defend those around us,” Byleth nodded, pride burning in his chest. “Our shields are the most important part of our equipment for this reason. Our armor protects only ourselves, but with our shields, we can protect everyone in the formation.” 

Dimitri smiled. “I admire that, and I would like to apologize for my incorrect assessment of you. You’re thoughtful and you never once refused to answer any question we had in classes, even if you admitted that you didn’t know the answer. You looked through the material with us and helped us discover it together.” 

“I needed to learn just as much as you did, and you students have helped me grow as a person,” Byleth reached out and clapped the boy’s shoulder, wondering why the power of Dimitri’s Crest, or any of his student’s Crests, no longer overwhelmed him whenever they were near. 

He could still feel the Crests, yes, but it wasn’t emanating in great waves that forced him to brace himself whenever they were by him. Edelgard and Lysithea’s unusual power had dampened as well, but he could still feel two distinct auras from both of them. He certainly needed to talk to them about that. 

“You’ve simply grown used to them, or perhaps our Crest has grown powerful enough to dampen their effects,” Sothis mused. “Either way, it is nice to be free from that little headache!” 

“Could I ask you for a favor, Professor?” Dimitri asked. 

Byleth nodded, waiting for the boy to elaborate. 

“Do you think you could teach me how to fight with a shield like yours? To protect others?” Dimitri fiddled with hands powerful enough to snap iron like glass. 

“You want me to teach you how to fight with a shield like a hoplite?” Byleth mused, at which the boy nodded. “Your style is a bit reckless, requiring you to use both hands to swing the lance around like a quarterstaff. You’ve been doing well enough with learning a different lance style, so perhaps...” 

It would certainly be interesting to see how Dimitri fared with a hoplon, given his perchance for favoring sheer strength above all else. A hoplite needed power and dexterity to use the shield and spear well, and trying to rely on brute force alone would only hurt you and those beside you. 

“I can try, but your unnatural strength could prove to be quite a hurdle,” Byleth said. 

“Focus, you fool!” Sothis snapped from inside. “He is trying to distract you!” 

What? Oh, right! The girls and whatever scheme they’d been trying to enact! 

“Dimitri, do you know why everyone has been avoiding me?” he asked, and the boy faltered. 

“I do not know what you’re talking about, Professor,” Dimitri said, but he was not good at lying. “We haven’t been avoiding you. What do you mean?” 

“The second you showed up, Dorothea and Ingrid took off like I was trying to kill them,” Byleth said dryly. “Everyone’s been hiding something.” 

He quietly thanked Sothis for getting him back on track. His Spartan nature had focused on training and violence, as usual, but it was something he couldn’t quite help. It was what he was born for, after all. 

“You are quite welcome!” Sothis preened. “Honestly, what would you do without me?” 

“We, uh, aren’t trying to hide anything,” Dimitri looked like a cornered rat: ready to flee at the slightest move. “I swear.” 

“Dimitri,” Byleth grunted as he glared at the boy. 

He was actually twitching a bit. Good grief, he really wasn’t built for lying, was he? 

“I almost pity him for trying so hard,” Sothis sighed, which made Byleth crack a faint smile against his will. 

Dimitri smiled as well, then chuckled. “I probably look like an utter fool, don’t I?” 

“Is it bad? What you’re trying to hide from me?” Byleth asked. 

“No, it isn’t,” Dimitri sighed, hanging his head in defeat. “We were all working together on something for after the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, but everyone was afraid of letting it slip around you because it’s so hard to not talk to you.” 

Byleth blinked. “Really? I always thought it was difficult to talk to me because I scare people.” 

“You were difficult to speak with at first, but as we worked together more and trained, it became easier,” Dimitri clarified. “Although I must say that I was serious about the shield training.” 

“Good, because so was I,” Byleth nodded as he retrieved his spear. “Come on, let’s get you fitted for a large leather shield to practice some forms before we move onto something heavier.” 

If their little secret wasn’t harmful, and Byleth could tell that Dimitri wasn’t lying about that, then he didn’t need to know until they were ready to reveal it. 

Besides, training was good for the body and for the mind: you could release all of your frustration and worries with each swing or thrust, and your sparring partner, if you had one, could answer with everything left unsaid, feelings that needed no words to convey support or critique. 

Perhaps that was why the Spartans spent so much time hammering away on one another: it was a way to forget the home that they would likely not see again, the friends and family that they’d lost. 

Strange, he’d never thought about it like that before... 

Byleth took Dimitri to the training grounds, where Caspar and Raphael were trading blows with wooden tonfa while Leonie and Lorenz were critiquing each other’s lance technique. Or, rather, Lorenz was critiquing Leonie’s technique while Leonie criticized his attitude. 

The boy was trying, but he was being a bit overzealous, it would seem. 

Byleth moved over to the supplies he’d ordered for his class, set aside his spear, and picked up a heavy leather shield before holding it out to Dimitri. The boy took it and strapped it to his arm, his blue eyes eager as he looked to Byleth for direction. 

“First thing’s first, you’ll want to hold that shield so that your arm is roughly in front of your chest,” Byleth demonstrated with his own hoplon, his muscles easing into a stance he’d taken countless times over the past decade. “Bend your knees to ease the strain on your arms and back.” 

Dimitri attempted to emulate him, but it was clear that he’d never held a shield of this size before aside from when he’d carried it for endurance training. It hung too low, the soft rim almost hitting the ground. 

“I see why you wear vambraces and greaves, now,” Dimitri commented as he tried to correct himself. “Your armor covers what your shield doesn’t, and if you’re in formation with the other Spartans, your shields cover each other.” 

“Yes,” Byleth nodded. “Keep your stance wide to spread your weight out evenly, but not too wide or else you can easily become unbalanced. A soldier must be grounded, especially in a phalanx, or else the soldier becomes a weakness that can bring the entire formation down.” 

“I hear you,” Dimitri nodded, and his stance became firmer. 

“Good,” Bylth picked up a wooden lance and strode over to the boy, pushing it into his free hand. “Now, you can either rest your spear on top of the rim or out to the side, depending on which stance is more comfortable for you.” 

Dimitri took the lance in hand and held it lower on the shield in a standard stance, but he was holding it too close to the head and the weapon wasn’t giving him the desired reach. 

“Hold it further down the haft,” Byleth instructed, indicating with his finger. “You’ll need the reach.” 

Dimitri fumbled in his attempt to obey and nearly dropped the weapon, but Byleth caught it and adjusted the boy’s grip accordingly. “My apologies, Professor.” 

“No apologies necessary,” Byleth shook his head and retrieved a training lance of his own to take up his stance at the boy’s side. “See how I’m doing it? Keep yourself grounded so as to present a wall to your enemy, and don’t worry about dodging unless you’re about to be bludgeoned with a hammer or blasted with magic. Let the shield do its work.” 

Dimitri nodded, paying rapt attention as his professor demonstrated the thrusts and sweeps one could perform with the spear while in cover behind a shield as large as a hoplon. 

As the drills continued, Byleth took careful measure of the emotions he could see filtering through Dimitri’s sharp blue eyes, feeling the boy’s need to protect those he cared about each time their weapons met the other’s shield. That probably had something to do with Duscur and how he’d lost his parents, but Byleth could understand the desire to protect. It had been a focal point of his training, after all. 

But there was also anger; a deep, smoldering rage that was barely contained beneath the deep blue of his normally caring eyes. It was...unnerving, especially when one considered how Felix had spoken of Dimitri’s savagery in battle during a rebellion in the Kingdom. 

“What is it that seek to do with this? To protect?” Byleth found himself asking as he drilled Dimitri, catching the boy’s lance with his shield. 

Dimitri faltered, stumbling back a few paces as Byleth pushed against him. “What do I seek to protect?” 

“It’s easy enough to pick up a shield to protect yourself in battle, but you and I both know that’s not what this is about,” Byleth planted the butt of his lance against the ground. “You have something you want to protect, or something you regret not being able to save.” 

Dimitri stared at the ground, his long bangs obscuring his eyes as his lance snapped in his grasp. “Dorothea was right when she said you had an unnatural knack for seeing through us. That’s why we’ve been trying so hard to be secretive with the, uh, surprise.” 

Had he said something wrong? 

“Dimitri?” Byleth frowned, wondering if he’d overstepped. 

“You know I lost my parents,” the boy sighed, a bitter smile on his lips as he looked at his broken weapon. “And Glenn, and many others in Duscur. I’ve sworn to protect everyone I have left, and yet...I find myself being protected by you despite all the strength my Crest imbues me with. I’m still not strong enough...” 

“You don’t have to take on everything alone,” Byleth leaned his wooden lance against a wall and strode forward, clasping Dimitri’s broad shoulder with his hand. “A phalanx is strong because everyone supports one another and helps protect those beside them. There is no shame in tackling problems with friends by your side.” 

“Professor...” Dimitri faltered, embarrassment and awe filtering across his features as a small smile curved his lips. “You...consider me a friend?” 

“I consider all of you my friends, although you’re my students first and foremost,” Byleth nodded. “On the battlefield, my priority is making sure you guys survive with minimal injuries, even if it means I take on the worst of the fighting.” 

“That explains your actions in Aileil,” Dimitri nodded. “Although I did do the same thing against the mercenaries’ southern formation, forcing Dedue to chase me.” 

“He’s a good man, and a loyal friend,” Byleth mused. 

“I would love to have him as a friend, but he insists on presenting himself as my retainer,” Dimitri sighed, shaking his head in annoyance. “He is as stubborn as a mule when he wants to be.” 

“So I’ve seen,” Byleth chuckled. “It would be interesting to see if your friendship can mirror Annette and Mercedes. The two are practically attached at the hip, lately, even more than usual.” 

Dimitri laughed. “It’s good to see their friendship, isn’t it?” 

“It is, although sometimes I wonder if they’re more than friends,” Byleth admitted. “They almost act like a couple at times.” 

“I can see why you think that,” Dimitri tapped his chin. “I, for one, would be overjoyed to learn that they’re seeing one another. They just seem natural together, don’t they?” 

Byleth nodded. “I know Mercedes’ father had preferred that she get married off to some noble house to potentially pass her Crest down to an heir, before she and her mother fled their House, but I’m not sure about Annette’s.” 

Dimitri’s expression darkened. “Both of them have had many issues with their families, yet I cannot help but feel responsible for Annette. Because of Duscur, Gustave left the Kingdom and came here.” 

“That’s Gilbert’s real name?” Byleth grunted in annoyance. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised the coward changed it.” 

“Professor?” Dimitri’s dark expression changed to shock. “I wasn’t aware you disliked Gilbert so.” 

Byleth glanced at the boy. “Weren’t you close by in Conand Tower when I’d described why I disliked Gilbert?” 

“You must have done so when I was in the back or scouting ahead,” Dimitri shook his head. “He is a good man and a good knight, albeit one burdened by regrets and his failures.” 

“He abandoned his oaths, his family, and his home,” Byleth explained. “Spartans loathe those who flee from their responsibilities in such a manner, especially like a coward. And the way he treats Annette makes me want to stab him.” 

Dimitri hesitated, and Byleth took that cue to tone down his anger. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get so intense.” 

“It’s fine, Professor,” Dimitri shook his head as a thoughtful expression crossed his face. “I just remembered something else from the tower: didn’t Sylvain say something about Hapi having a crush on you?” 

“Yeah, she told me as such, too, after Miklan fell,” Byleth nodded, those words making him feel warmer inside despite the cold day. 

Dimitri gave him a small, guarded smile. “I see. Have you spoken to her further about it at all?” 

“No, we haven’t really had the chance to talk, what with Rhea essentially locking down Abyss after Flayn’s kidnapping. The knights aren’t letting anyone from Abyss into Garreg Mach while they search for Jeritza and the Flame Emperor,” Byleth shook his head. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Flayn, either.” 

“Seteth isn’t letting her out of his sight, and he’s appointed Catherine as her personal bodyguard on top of that,” Dimitri explained. “They rarely leave the upper floors because Seteth fears someone else may attempt to finish what Jeritza started.” 

“I imagine Flayn isn’t too happy about that,” Byleth frowned. 

From what he’d seen, Flayn was a free-spirited girl who valued her space away from her overly protective brother. She hated being locked up and restrained, especially if Seteth was responsible for it. This had to be torture for her. 

“She isn’t,” Dimitri chuckled. “I passed by her yelling at Seteth on my way to the library yesterday, making it quite plain that she has no love for her, uh, exile from the rest of the monastery.” 

Byleth heard movement behind him: footsteps approaching, then hesitating as words died in the throat of the one starting to call out. 

“Oh, it looks like the Professor’s busy...I’d better not bother him,” it was Ignatz’s voice, and Byleth turned to see the boy fidgeting in the entrance of the training grounds, a familiar satchel in his hands. 

“Ignatz, what did you need?” Byleth called out, which made the boy jump. 

“Oh, I’m sorry if I’m interrupting!” Ignatz stammered as he took a step forward and then hesitated again. “I, uh, have you seen Lysithea anywhere? She dropped this satchel and I’ve been trying to return it to her.” 

“I haven’t,” Byleth shook his head. 

Ignatz’s face fell. “Oh. That’s okay, really! I’m sorry if I interrupted something important! I didn’t intend to butt in like that...” 

The poor boy was far too hard on himself, from what Byleth had seen, fearing that he was inconveniencing others and apologizing for any perceived slight whether or not one had been actually created. Some Spartan training could probably build up his confidence, let alone his scrawny physique. 

“You’re fine, my friend,” Dimitri said in a gentle voice. “Perhaps we could try to track down Lysithea for you?” 

“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that!” Ignatz spluttered. “Not if you’re already busy training!” 

Byleth opened his mouth to assure the boy that it would be fine when a loud explosion in the direction of the greenhouse made him freeze. 

“What was that?” 

“An explosion?’ 

The students stopped what they were doing, looking around in confusion as some chattered nervously among themselves. 

Dimitri grabbed Byleth’s arm. “That came from the dorms.” 

“Let’s go,” Byleth retrieved his spear as both of them pushed past Ignatz and sprinted towards the dorms. 

Students were scrambling away from the greenhouse as knights waded in the opposite direction, shouting for them to evacuate. Byleth and Dimitri shoved their way through the throng until the greenhouse and the dorms by it came into view. 

A door lay in fractured pieces on the ground, with a white-armored form in a similar state lumped beside it. Dark red blood stained the cobblestones, and Byleth caught a glimpse of a dismembered leg stuck in a nearby bush. 

Smoke curled around the now-open dorm that the blast had originated from, and Byleth’s blood turned into ice upon realizing that said dorm was Lysithea’s. He sprinted forward, vaulting over the nearby shrubs and dashing into Lysithea’s room, ignoring the orders being barked at him by approaching knights. 

“Lysithea!” he burst through the door and ducked just in time to avoid losing his head to a blast of dark energy. “Lysithea, it’s me! It’s Byleth!” 

The room was in complete disarray: burned books, papers, and writing supplies lay strewn on the floor and the desk had been completely decimated. Her bed was on fire, charred by a blast of magical power, and the curtains had been reduced to ash. 

“Professor?” a tiny, terrified voice squeaked, and Byleth immediately found its owner huddled against a stack of ruined books, dark energy crackling around her fingertips. 

Byleth crouched beside her as best as his stiff bronze breastplate allowed, ignoring how the heavy metal dug into his body as he set his spear down and held out his hand as he examined her burned clothes and wide eyes. Tears were streaming down her face, carving channels through the black dust and soot that now covered her. 

“Lysithea, are you okay? What happened?” he heaved a faint sigh of relief upon seeing that she wasn’t seriously harmed. 

“That knight,” she croaked, a trembling finger pointing at something that was in the corner of the room. “He...” 

Byleth followed her gesture to see a head lodged into the wall, the face under the melting metal helm set into a silent, agonized scream. Its flesh was deathly pale, more so than anyone he’d ever seen before, with wide eyes of the same milky color staring sightlessly at the girl who’d somehow destroyed this entire room with a single spell. 

“What in Ares’s name is that?” Byleth scowled. “It looks like a ghost wearing human flesh.” 

“They came back for me,” Lysithea whimpered. “The mages...he’s one of theirs.” 

What? What in Olympus was she talking about? Mages? Whatever they were, Lysithea was clearly terrified of them. 

“They are not going to hurt you,” Byleth swore, the air heavy with the stench of burning paper, hot wax from the candle melting on the desk’s wreckage, and singed hair. “Not as long as I am here.” 

Lysithea’s wide eyes bore into her, sheer terror reflected in her irises as her trembling hands wrapped around Byleth’s own. “P-Professor...” 

“Hey! What’s going on here?!” Byleth let go of Lysithea and whirled, covering the girl with his shield and body as he grabbed his spear and brandished it at the knights standing in the ruined doorway, their faces hidden behind their visors. 

“Take off your helmets!” he ordered, pressing his back against Lysithea to cover her more thoroughly. “Now!” 

The knights balked, looking at each other in confusion. 

“I said take them off!” Byleth ordered again, ready to launch himself at them. 

“G-guys!” one of the knights had spotted the dismembered head. “Who the hell is that? That’s not one of ours!” 

“Last warning, and then I’ll kill you,” Byleth growled, tensing his muscles for combat. 

“W-wait! We’ll take them off! We’ll take them off!” the knights pulled their helmets off, revealing their human faces and the stunned expressions set into them. 

“Professor, what happened here?” one asked, her eyes going to Lysithea. “Is she okay?” 

Byleth looked back at the girl in question after ensuring that she was completely covered by him and his shield. “A little dirty, but she seems alright.” 

She looked terrified, fingers hooked into claws as dark energy rippled around her hands, ready to launch another attack if needed. 

“You’ve done your part, now let us take it from here,” the knight who spoke stepped forward, crunching the remains of a vase under his boot. 

“No!” Lysithea shrieked, her hands wrapping around Byleth’s arm. “Professor, don’t leave me!” 

“Stop!” Byleth barked, and the knight froze. “I am staying with her. That is not up for debate.” 

The knights looked at one another in confusion, jostling as Dimitri pushed his way through them to join Byleth. 

“Professor, is Lysithea alright?” the prince asked, his eyes steely as he took in the destruction. “What happened?” 

“What happened, indeed?” Seteth emerged with more knights, his eyes widening with horror as he saw the pale head. “What on earth? Impossible...” 

“I’m not sure, but that thing was trying to go after Lysithea for some reason,” Byleth grunted, not relaxing his defensive posture even as his muscles began to protest. “I am staying with her.” 

Seteth nodded grimly, a haunted expression on his face as he stared at the head. “Let’s go, then. Lady Rhea will want to hear of this.” 

Great, Rhea. Just what Byleth needed right now. 


	18. Suspicions and Intrigue

“This is not good, Rhea,” Seteth was saying as Byleth and Dimitri strode into the audience chamber with Lysithea between them. “If they’re able to impersonate our staff and knights...” 

Byleth kept Lysithea close as he bowed his head to Rhea, making his heavy helmet shift against his braided hair. “I take it you know what that thing was?” 

Both of the green-haired officials clammed up immediately, sharing a concerned look between them. 

“Tell me, now,” Byleth nodded towards Lysithea. “That thing attacked Lysithea, and if you know what they are, we have a right to know as well.” 

Perhaps it was the fact that a fully armed Spartan was the one making demands, but Rhea and Seteth faltered a bit before the archbishop gave a grim nod. 

“Very well. The Church of Seiros has had enemies hiding in the shadows of Fodlan since ancient times: enemies who seek nothing other than our downfall. They hide and scheme against us, and it seems that they have somehow managed to infiltrate our ranks with magic that lets them change their appearance at will,” the archbishop explained, a flare of anger flashing across her eyes. 

“Why did they go after Lysithea?” Dimitri frowned. “And how can we protect people from these enemies if they can change their appearance so well?” 

“Lysithea?” Seteth looked at the girl, who was shaking as she clenched her fists. “I heard you say that they came back for you. Care to explain that?” 

Byleth could see concern and hope warring in the girl’s eyes as she clearly debated on what she should say, and she inched closer to her heavily-armored escort. 

“Lysithea, we can help you and I promise that I will do everything I can to protect you, but you need to talk to us,” Byleth said as gently as he could. “I need to know what to look for.” 

“I...” her hesitation made Rhea step forward. 

“It’s okay, child,” the archbishop’s soothing voice sounded oddly sinister to Byleth. “Whatever you tell us will remain in the strictest of confidence.” 

Lysithea stared at her feet for an eternity before sighing. “After the Empire took over House Ordelia when I was a child, and they brought those ghost-faced mages with them, they performed horrible experiments on me and the other children in House Ordelia. They cut us open, drained our blood, and far worse, until I was the only one left alive.” 

Hot anger surged through his veins at the words, and Byleth found his hand clutching his spear even tighter. 

“What were they trying to do?” Seteth asked, horror in his eyes as he appraised Lysithea. 

“They were trying to artificially implant Crests into us,” Lysithea lifted both of her hands before her, hesitating again before conjuring an image over each palm. “I was their only success, and they left afterwards to let my family pick up the pieces of what little we had left.” 

“They what?!” Dimitri gasped, his eyes wide as everyone digested her words. 

“I didn’t have any Crests when I was born, and my hair...it lost all pigment after both Crests manifested inside of me,” Lysithea doused her Crests and absently ran her fingers through her white strands. 

“Two Crests...” Seteth whispered, he and Rhea sharing another stunned look. “Does anyone else know about them?” 

“Only Hanneman and Catherine,” Lysithea answered. “They both figured it out on their own and promised not to tell anyone.” 

Byleth recalled his training and steadied himself, letting Spartan discipline settle his rage. He’d suspected that something was strange with her after he’d sensed two coexisting magical energy sources from the girl, but he’d also sensed the same thing in Edelgard. Did she also have this experiment done to her, to give her two Crests? 

He would have to ask her about it later, if she would even tell him. 

“What should we do, Lady Rhea?” Seterh turned to the woman. 

“Put the knights on alert for any imposters in the Church’s ranks,” Rhea answered. “If anyone is acting strange, bring them to me immediately. And as for Miss von Ordelia...” 

“I would like to request that she be transferred to the Blue Lions,” Byleth stepped forward. 

“P-Professor?!” Lysithea yelped. 

“I agree,” Dimitri added. “I feel she would be better protected if she were added to our class.” 

“I don’t need protection!” Lysithea bristled. “I am not some helpless child!” 

“I know, but it would make me feel better if I was able to keep a closer eye on you, especially since these mages suddenly have an interest in you again,” Byleth turned to face her. “I will not force you to join the Blue Lions, however.” 

“Why did she only get upset when Dimitri mentioned protecting her but not when the Professor did?” he heard Seteth mutter under his breath but chose to ignore the advisor. 

“Professor...” Lysithea stared at him for a long while, her eyes reflecting her indecision while she fiddled with her uniform. 

“You don’t need to make your decision here and now,” Byleth said. “You can think about it as long as you need.” 

And he would need some time to organize a Spartan escort for her. His brothers would gladly do it if he asked, but he would have to rotate their shifts and stress that they couldn’t follow her into the bathhouse. 

Perhaps he could speak to his father about having the Blade Breaker company look out for her as well? 

Byleth paused at that thought: how long had it been since he’d spoken to his father, anyhow? The mercenaries had been deployed on mission after mission after they’d come here and Byleth had rarely seen Jeralt around the monastery. What words they’d shared had been brief and to the point, as they’d had almost no time for a lengthy conversation. 

Byleth glanced at Rhea and found her staring at him, the painted smile on her lips belying the curiosity and hunger shining in her green eyes. Everything Argo had told him that day in the training yard came rushing back, and Byleth’s spear arm ached for action. 

“My dear Byleth, could I have a word with you in private?” Rhea asked, her words drawing a surprised look from Seteth before the advisor scowled. 

Zeus strike me down... 

“Of course, Lady Rhea,” Byleth bowed, glancing at Dimitri and jerking his chin at Lysithea in a silent order. 

The boy nodded resolutely, a proud smile curving across his lips. “Lysithea, would you like to join me for some food in the dining hall?” 

“I suppose...” the girl muttered, giving Byleth one more conflicted look. 

“We’ll start repairing the damage to your dorm, but you’ll probably have to share a room with one of your classmates for the time being,” Seteth spoke up, folding his arms before his chest. “Perhaps Hilda would be agreeable?” 

Hopefully, Byleth thought as he followed Rhea into the adjoining room and shut the door behind him, fighting to ignore how the too-sweet incense burned his nose. 

Rhea clasped her hands before her stomach as she examined Byleth closely, never once losing her practiced smile. “I’m sure you have many questions about what that interloper was, do you not?” 

“I feel like I know them,” Sothis murmured, her voice filling his head. “Those pale creatures...I wonder if they’re why the little girl has such a fear of ghosts?” 

“What are they?” Byleth asked, absently squeezing his spear’s worn grip. 

The rough leather against his callused hand was almost comforting. 

“Our enemies hail from an ancient race that opposed the Goddess Sothis long ago,” Rhea sighed. “They were thought to be either banished or destroyed, yet it is clear that was not the case. They desired nothing but our destruction, and I have no doubt that their goals remain the same despite all this time.” 

“Have you ever known them to be capable of giving someone Crests in the way they did to Lysithea?” Byleth asked, at which Rhea shook her head. 

“No...which only makes me wonder what their goal is. Miss von Ordelia stated that the mages lost interest in her after she received her Crests, which makes me think that she was only a test subject to see if it could be done without killing the subject.” 

“They destroyed her family and killed children just for a test?” Byleth clenched his jaw, thankful that his helmet made it harder for Rhea to see his facial expressions. “But who were they trying to implant Crests into, and which Crests were used?” 

Rhea reached out and squeezed his shoulder, or at least the part of his shoulder that wasn’t covered by his heavy, stiff cuirass. Her fingers were soft and gentle, yet firm and Byleth again felt the dig of unseen talons against his flesh. 

“I do not know, dear one, but we will endure whatever wicked plans they have,” the archbishop declared, her hungry gaze boring into his very soul. “Together, we shall triumph against our enemies.” 

Every part of his training was screaming for him to shove his spear into Rhea’s chest and get the hell out of there, but Byleth forced himself to nod. 

“Together, Lady Rhea,” he agreed. 

“Take care of your students, especially with next week’s Battle of the Eagle and Lion,” Rhea finally pulled her hand away in a silent dismissal. “I look forward to seeing your class in action.” 

“As do I,” Byleth bowed before turning and leaving, wincing at how tightly-wound his muscles had become in her presence. 

“I am not going to just hide up here forever, brother!” he walked out into Flayn yelling at Seteth, the green-haired girl’s face set into an angry pout as she clenched her fists at her side. “And having the Knights keep me locked up here is cruel!” 

“You’re locking Flayn up?” Byleth asked. “That’s a little extreme.” 

Seteth jolted and glanced at Byleth. “It is for her safety, Professor. And while you will always have my gratitude for rescuing her from Jeritza, I would rather die than let our enemies take her again.” 

“Brother!” Flayn protested. 

“Why not let her join the Blue Lions so we might protect her while giving her some freedom around the Monastery?” Byleth asked, offering the same olive branch he’d offered Lysithea. 

Flayn actually squealed happily and jumped up and down. “Yes, yes! A marvelous idea, Professor! I would love to be part of your class!” 

“W-wait!” Seteth spluttered. “I didn’t-” 

“We don’t have any classes next week due to the mock battle, but you’re welcome to seek me out if you’d like some tutoring on the subjects so I can bring you up to speed. Annette might also be willing to help you,” Byleth continued. “I’ll speak with her about it.” 

“Thank you, Professor! I look forward to it!” Flayn bowed to him, making her hair sway. 

“As do I. Good day to you, Flayn,” Byleth turned away from the stuttering Seteth and pushed out into the main hall. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Unknown to Byleth, his students were meeting in secret in the dorms, with Annette and Mercedes on sentry duty to ensure their Professor didn’t sneak up on them. 

“I still don’t get why we have to do all of this nonsense,” Felix grunted, folding his arms and shaking his head. 

“Because it’s the Professor, and we all agreed to this,” Ingrid pointed out, shooting her old friend a disapproving glare. 

“Yeah, and besides, it’s pretty fun!” Sylvain chuckled, resting his hands behind his head. “He probably thinks we’re up to something pretty bad, though, with the way we’ve been trying to avoid him.” 

Ingrid sighed. “He thought we were afraid of him or worse when he caught up to me earlier. I managed to slip away thanks to Dimitri, but still...I dislike this sneaking around.” 

“It’s not too bad,” Ashe shrugged, absently tapping his fingers against the wall. “He’s easy to hear coming, with all that armor. Though, uh, all the Spartans sound like he does...” 

“If this is what His Highness wants to do, then I shall help however I can,” Dedue vowed, which made Felix scoff. 

“Oh, be quiet, dog,” the swordsman growled. 

Ingrid jammed her elbow into his ribs, making him curse and glare at her. 

“We have a week to get this done,” Sylvain pointed out. “Mercedes, how’s things going on your end?” 

“I finished sewing yesterday,” the young woman called back. “Annie was such a great help in getting the pattern right!” 

“Oh, all I did was sketch it out and hold it up for you!” Annette blushed, but she was smiling with no small amount of pride. “We, uh, keep having problems getting the red coloring for our other surprise right, though. It’s coming out pink instead of red!” 

“I heard you tripped over a box and nearly set the kitchens on fire,” Felix mused, at which Annette’s face turned even redder. 

“Shut up, Felix,” Ingrid sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I thought His Highness was supposed to be back by now.” 

“Didn’t you hear? Lysithea was attacked in her room by some creep pretending to be a knight,” Ashe pointed out. “His Highness and the Professor took her to Lady Rhea with Seteth. I don’t know how long they’ll be.” 

“Lysithea? Oh, I hope she’s okay!” Annette frowned. 

Mercedes turned back to the group, concern in her almost motherly expression. “I’ll bake her some sweets later. Hopefully that’ll help her feel a little better!” 

“Ooh, I’ll help! Lysithea’s my rival, but I don’t want her to get hurt!” Annette chimed in. “Just leave it to us!” 

Heavy footsteps made them fall silent, but their concerns were allayed as Dimitri strode into their meeting spot. 

“Ah, good, we’re all here,” he nodded. “What did I miss?” 

“Not much,” Ashe shrugged. 

“Is everything alright with Lysithea?” Annette asked, at which Dimitri nodded. 

“She is safe, and the Professor asked her to consider joining our House so he could more easily protect her.” 

“Really? Like we need another classmate when he can barely keep tabs on us and the Ashen Wolves,” Felix muttered, shaking his head. 

“What do you mean?” Mercedes asked. “I think the Professor’s doing a marvelous job catering to all of us! All the assignments and tutoring he gives me are catered towards reason and faith.” 

“Same!” Annette chimed. “Sometimes he’ll help me with my axe forms!” 

“My spear work is far better than it used to be, even though I did have a difficult time adjusting to the forms he trained us in instead of the Kingdom’s style,” Ingrid admitted. 

Dedue nodded. “He has helped me to become an even stronger shield on the battlefield. We are all indebted to him.” 

“Agreed, which is why it’s important that we get this right,” Dimitri nodded. 

“So, the plan’s still on?” Sylvain grinned. 

“Of course it is,” Dimitri said. “We do this for the Professor.” 

“Should we have told the Wolves about it?” Annette asked. 

“No,” Felix said immediately. “I have no doubt that Hapi would blow it the first chance she gets.” 

“She is absolutely smitten with the Professor, after all,” Sylvain agreed. “Her crush on him is actually pretty adorable to watch, if I’m being honest.” 

“Weren’t you commenting on how she might be a monster in bed?” Ashe asked. 

Ingrid scowled at Sylvain, who lifted his hands in surrender. 

“No, no! I was recalling how she threatened to summon a monster in my room if I kept messing with her back in Conand Tower!” he spluttered, shaking his head. 

“Besides, I think Lady Rhea still has Abyss sealed off. Nobody is allowed in or out,” Annette said. 

“Since when has that ever stopped us?” a new, purring voice made the students jump. “Please, we have many entrances that Rhea doesn’t know about: I’ve just been keeping a tight rein on everyone so we don’t get an army of knights flooding into Abyss.” 

Yuri was leaning on the wall, absently examining his nails before giving the Lions a lazy smile. 

“I hear you all have a little plan for the Professor, do you not?” he pushed off the wall and toyed with the lapel on his shoulder. “How rude of you to keep us in the dark.” 

“We’re trying to keep it as secret as possible,” Dimitri explained, but the Abyssian merely shrugged. 

“Oh, I understand that, but nobody is better at keeping secrets than me,” Yuri sighed. “Care to clue me in to your little plan? Hapi would be furious if something happened to our dear Professor, after all.” 

Dimitri sighed, and glanced at his companions, gauging their reactions before turning back to Yuri. “Alright, I’ll tell you, but you absolutely cannot let the Professor know what we’re doing.” 

“My lips are sealed,” Yuri winked. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Solon grimaced as he approached the swaying Spartan soldier currently leaning against the wall, the man and the amphora he carried both reeking of wine. There had been some complaints about the soldier from a few students and staff, but Solon had seen an opportunity. 

If this strange device wouldn’t work for him, then perhaps it would have a different response to one of the people that it had called forth? Solon currently had the device tucked into his voluminous robes, well hidden from even the most prying eyes as he approached the drunk Spartan. 

The bronze-covered soldier wasn’t armed, thank Agartha, and neither did he have his large shield in hand, but Solon had the feeling that the brute could snap his neck with little effort. He would have to be careful, lest he meet the same fate that their foolish ally had. 

The poor fool had gone after the wrong girl, likely threatening their prototype from the Alliance instead of Edelgard, and he had been literally blasted to pieces for his mistake. Solon had only glimpsed the carnage earlier, but it seemed that the prototype’s magical power had grown even stronger as time had passed. How many years did she have left, he wondered, before her fragile body was consumed entirely by the Crests? 

“Hello, my friend, I take it you have been enjoying some wine?” Solon was cautious as he approached the Spartan. 

The soldier nodded and slurred something in his native tongue. Solon scowled and quietly used dark magic to translate the brute’s ramblings inside of his mind. Most of it was nonsense, of course, but Solon carefully brought the summoning device out from his robes and held it out to the Spartan. 

The soldier took hold of it, and it warmed up in both of their hands. 

Solon’s heart skipped a beat inside of his chest: the device was actually reacting to the Spartan! 

“You’re the library man,” the soldier mumbled. “You like stories? I gots stories!” 

Solon had heard that one of the Spartans, Podiarches, was known for describing monsters from Greek mythology...could Solon use this device to create those beasts or something similar? 

His heart was pounding as he smiled at the Spartan soldier. “Indeed, my friend! I’ve heard that you have quite a few fantastic beasts that have a lot of stories to tell.” 

“Yesh! I gots lots of stories to tells you!” the soldier slurred, lifting his empty amphora and trying to drink it. “Oh...ish empty.” 

“Good. Tell me all of them.” 


	19. Battle of The Eagle and Lion

The air was warm and the breeze was crisp, carrying with it the sound of hundreds of soldiers and a storm of clanking metal. The sun was hanging high over the chosen battlefield, bathing the golden waves of grain with warmth. 

“This is quite a beautiful place,” Podiarches murmured as the Spartans gazed out at the vast expanse and the makeshift fortifications that rose from the earth. “It reminds me of Arcadia.” 

“It does: the vast fields of golden grain stretching as far as the eye can see; the mountains rising from the earth...” Timotheos added, a sigh escaping him. 

“Well, Gronder Field is the largest grain producer in the Empire, so it makes sense that it would be covered in wheat,” Lysithea said from next to Byleth, bags darkening her eyes. 

The girl hadn’t been sleeping well, which some attributed to her having to bunk with Hilda for the time being while her dorm was being salvaged. She’d lost a lot of her class materials in the blast, but Professor Hanneman had taken it easy on her in regards to making it up. 

Byleth lightly bumped the girl with his arm. “Hey, how are you feeling?” 

“Tired,” she sighed, reaching up and rubbing her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. “It’s been hard to sleep with Hilda in the next bed over. You know, she talks in her sleep.” 

“Really?” Byleth mused as he watched the three armies take their positions on the field below. “I never thought she’d be the type.” 

“My good Byleth, are you certain that this is your choice?” Rhea approached, her robes swaying around her as she gracefully strode over to the Spartan warriors. “Would you not prefer to be on the field with your class?” 

He would, yes, but this wasn’t his battle to win. 

“Ordinarily, yes, but this battle is for the students to win, rather than their professors to win for them,” Byleth responded as he watched the Blue Lions gather at their meeting point in the middle of a cluster of fortifications. 

The Eagles were deployed at the base of the cliff, red-armored bodies spread out on the banks of the lone river snaking through Gronder, which left the Golden Deer to lurk within the confines of the forest on the eastern side of the field. 

The Lions, along with the Ashen Wolves, had the strongest defensive position on the field, covered by lines of wooden palisades, fences, and an actual fortress made of thick logs lashed together, but the Deer had the advantage of plentiful tree cover while the Eagles had a formidable natural obstacle that could easily funnel attacking troops onto the three narrow bridges. 

“Hanneman and Manuela are participating,” Lysithea pointed out. 

Byleth looked at the girl and nodded. “Yes, but I have trained my students hard. They are ready to show me just what they are capable of.” 

“Yeah, I can’t wait to see how everyone fares,” Hapi mused as she joined them, squinting down at the field. 

“Indeed. I have faith in the class,” Byleth nodded, then paused. 

Wait a minute. 

“Hapi, why aren’t you with everyone else?” Byleth turned to the Abyssian, who gave him a lazy smile. 

“I don’t really feel like fighting anyone today,” she shrugged, reaching up to cover her mouth as she yawned. “Besides, Dimi and the others have got this handled.” 

“Where the hells did she come from?” one of Rhea’s escort muttered, carrying a long pole with the white flag of the Church fluttering on its end. 

“I thought those Abyss freaks were locked up underground,” someone else wondered. 

“Keep insulting Hapi, and I’ll throw you off this cliff,” Byleth growled as protectiveness surged through him. 

The knights clammed up immediately while the Spartan soldiers chuckled at their expense. 

Rhea sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, but she slowly shook her head and straightened as Seteth approached. 

“Lady Rhea, everyone is in position,” the advisor reported, giving Byleth a sour look. “And Flayn has insisted on joining her...classmates in the Blue Lions on this venture. I sent some monks with her to aid in healing any injured.” 

“What can I say? She’s quite willful,” Byleth shrugged. 

The man sighed but nodded grimly, worry in his eyes as he looked over the battlefield. 

“Let us begin,” Rhea declared, and heralds in white garb lifted gilded trumpets to their lips before blowing out a series of sonorous notes that echoed across Gronder Field. 

The small armies of the classes, comprised of dozens of students and their soldiers, immediately surged forward en masse, kicking up clouds of dirt from hundreds of thundering footfalls. 

In an ordinary battle, Byleth would have kept the Blue Lions sequestered behind their fortifications and let the enemy come to them, but this was a game that would only be won by who defeated the most opponents. As reckless as it was, charging into the two opposing forces and taking out as many students and soldiers as possible was the only way to emerge victorious. 

And that was why he’d given Dimitri overall command of the class earlier. 

_“Dimitri, you are going to be leading our forces in this battle,”_ _Byleth_ _told the boy, who spluttered._

_“Me? But what will you do?” he was carrying a heavy leather shield, the same one that_ _Byleth_ _had been drilling him with in the days between the mock battle and when_ _Lysithea’s_ _room exploded._

_“I will watch. Young Spartan warriors always need to prove themselves, to show that everything they’ve learned hasn’t been in vain,” Byleth answered. “I am giving you all the chance to prove yourselves now.”_

_“We won’t let you down, Professor!” Ashe declared, a wide grin on his lips. “I swear it!”_

_“Leave it to us, sir!” Ingrid lifted her lance in salute. “It would be my honor to fight under His Highness’s command!”_

_Their enthusiasm was endearing, as always, and_ _Byleth_ _had felt himself smiling at their energetic declarations._

_“At least this is only a mock battle,” Felix muttered. “If this were real, the boar would have us all dead within an hour.”_

_“Do not insult His Highness,”_ _Dedue_ _warned, earning a snarled “Shut up, dog” from the young swordsman._

_“Stop fighting, please!” Mercedes implored. “We are all friends, here!”_

_“You know what to do,”_ _Byleth_ _had cut them off before this could further descend into chaos. “Good luck, and...I have faith in all of you.”_

And now here they were, the Eagles and Lions now streaming towards the unoccupied hill in the middle of the battlefield. A ballista had been placed on said hill, along with crates of non-lethal explosive ammunition, and taking it would prove to be a massive boon for whoever controlled it. 

Claude was holding back the Golden Deer, likely waiting for the other two classes to engage so he could swoop in and hit them on the flanks. It was smart, but the narrow corridors of the fortified hill would make it very easy to defend it from attack. He would have to make a move soon or risk being left behind in the rankings. 

Sylvain and his cavalry were already heading towards an unoccupied bridge crossing onto the flanks of the Eagles, with Ingrid and a battalion of pegasi covering them from the skies. 

It was a good move, but Byleth could already see Ferdinand advancing his own cavalry over to intercept the Lions. Dimitri and Dedue pushed onto the hill, steaming upwards with Ashe and Mercedes trailing behind, which left Annette, Flayn, and Felix to cover the Lion’s own flank with a small army of students while the Ashen Wolves prowled on the side of their formation to menace the slowly approaching Golden Deer lines. 

“They’re trying to get a feel for each other,” Lysithea commented as a few arrows flew from the Deer, which mostly missed. “Probing each other’s combat efficiency.” 

The Lions reached the top of the hill and immediately fanned out to block off enemy access to the peak, allowing Ashe’s archer corps to set about arming the ballista. Dedue formed the front line with his armored division while Dimitri’s infantry filed in to provide support. 

“Well, at least I’m not down there,” Hapi stretched at Byleth’s side, then poked his arm. “Hey, Shiny.” 

Byleth glanced over to her, turning his attention from the unfolding battle. “What is it?” 

“Are you mad that I left the battle?” she asked, her red eyes boring into him. 

Was he? 

Byleth shook his head. “Of course not. I’m glad you’re here.” 

Her smile warmed him down to his very bones, and he felt a smile of his own forming. 

“I’m glad I’m here, too,” she leaned against him, her warmth sinking into his body, and Byleth could feel Rhea’s glare burning into him. 

He turned his attention back to the battle, surprised to see that Edelgard had personally smashed a hole through Dedue’s line and was currently engaging Dimitri in a vicious fight. The prince was hammering away at Edelgard’s massive shield, denting and fracturing metal and wood with each Crest-infused blow while their forces engaged one another all around them. 

The ballista fired with a deafening bark, its bolt streaking towards Ferdinand’s cavalry and exploding before it hit, spraying troops and horses alike with wooden shrapnel. A few of the beasts shrieked and reared, throwing their riders before galloping off in panic and leaving the dazed Imperials to wonder why their defeat markers had been activated. 

Ferdinand’s charge faltered in confusion and most likely from the ringing that had to fill the helmets from the explosion rattling the metal and the heads beneath, which allowed Sylvain’s cavalry to plow into them. 

Everyone on horseback had been given Church-bred steeds trained to slow their charges whenever they got close to someone else, reducing the risk that a student or soldier would be trampled under steel-shod hooves or brutalized by a battering ram of fur, muscle, and armor. 

Imperial and Kingdom cavalry were jabbing and hacking at one another with blunted weapons, and Byleth was pleased to see how easily Sylvain was unhorsing every foe around him. Red markers flared to life amidst the debacle, with defeated soldiers and students trudging away whilst trying avoid being trampled by the horses cantering around. 

“There goes Lorenz,” Lysithea muttered. “As foolish as always.” 

A stream of yellow cavalry poured from the eastern forest, thundering towards the hill in a cloud of dust and kicked up earth. A moment later, a swarm of infantry emerged from the trees in pursuit, with Raphael and Hilda leading a frontal charge against the flank of the Blue Lions and Ashen Wolves while Leonie tried her best to chase down Lorenz. 

Byleth turned his attention back to where Dimitri was fighting Edelgard, both lords shoving and slamming one another with their weapons while contesting the other’s unnatural strength with their own. Dedue had reformed his ranks and was currently knifing through Caspar’s troops, the Duscur giant swatting his smaller opponent aside with ease before plowing through the remaining Imperials. 

A barrage of dark magic exploded in the ranks of the heavily armored Kingdom knights, lighting up markers left and right, which allowed Petra to plunge her lighter brigade into the chaos and stir up even more madness as Hubert’s mages then turned to trade fire with an encroaching Ignatz and his troops. 

A ballista bolt exploded again, this time over Lorenz’s cavalry with equally spectacular results as it had with Ferdinand, the noble’s charge all but grinding to a halt as a barrage of spells from Annette followed the blast. She then turned her attention to another force of Alliance troops trying to get closer through the trees and set their cover ablaze with a volley of fireballs. 

“The Lions are performing well, but Dimitri was a bit too reckless,” Byleth noted as he took in the battle enfolding atop the hill. “He should have had Annette’s corps erect magical shields in front of Dedue to mitigate Hubert.” 

“That small girl packs a punch,” Timotheos grunted, watching Dimitri and Edelgard hammer away on one another. 

Byleth nodded, his attention flicking to where Balthus and Hilda were fighting while Felix and Yuri decimated poor Raphael’s forces between them. Constance moved her mages around to Hilda’s unprotected flank, sticking to the shade of nearby trees, and battered her with a stream of magical bolts, obliterating the Golden Deer’s advance force and leaving their front line vulnerable. 

Flayn and Mercedes were moving behind the battle lines on either side, followed by a cloud of green magic as their healers did everything they could to keep their allies in the fight. 

A clap of thunder shook the battlefield as a stream of lightning suddenly sprayed skyward from a cluster of trees, streaking through the air to descend on Sylvain’s cavalry with a thundering boom. Markers flared to life on bodies, and Byleth saw the Gautier noble go flying before splashing into the river. 

Ingrid’s aerial corps tried to dive at the Imperial mages hidden in the forest, but their efforts were hindered by the thick canopy and only served to leave them open for a barrage of arrows fired from Bernadetta at the base of the cliff. Over half of Ingrid’s troops disengaged with their markers glowing, leaving the lady knight to limp away with what was left of her battalion while Imperial archers continued trailing fire after them. 

“Cowards,” another Spartan, Urythemos, grumbled. “There is no honor in hiding amongst the trees.” 

“But it was very effective,” Byleth commented as Dorothea emerged from the forest at the head of her mage corps. “Dorothea and Bernadetta have effectively neutralized Ingrid and Sylvain, crippling the most mobile forces the Lions had.” 

Again, Byleth turned his attention to Dimitri and Edelgard just in time to watch Dimitri crouch and catch Edelgard’s overhand strike on his beaten and battered shield before hurling her over his body and onto the ground behind him. 

“That’s the way to do it, prince!” Podiarches laughed as Dimitri whirled and knocked Edegard out of the fight with a final thrust to her chest. 

Pride smoldered in Byleth’s chest as Dimitri offered Edelgard a hand and pulled her up when she accepted. Dedue’s armored corps was slugging it out with Petra, but it was clear that the Brigid princess’s lighter brigade was being overpowered by the heavily armored knights. 

Petra, herself, was engaging Dedue, but her sword wasn’t scratching his armor while his slow axe swings were missing by miles as the nimble princess danced around him. It would likely come down to sheer luck or a misstep on Petra’s part for Dedue to hit her and knock her out of the battle. 

Byleth admired Petra’s courage: she was challenging an enemy she likely could not defeat in an attempt to buy time for her remaining allies to reform and hit the hill. Hubert finished off Ignatz and started to wheel his mages back towards the remaining Black Eagles, but Leonie’s cavalry stampeded over the nearby bridge and plowed into him, lances thrusting into bodies and quickly knocking Edelgard’s vassal out. 

Dorothea’s corps blasted Leonie alongside Linhardt’s, bolts of magic lighting up the space between the three as even more defeat markers flared to life. 

“Ashe, you have a perfect target there,” Byleth murmured, pleased to see that the boy was already firing at the large cluster of mages with his ballista. 

Imperial troops scrambled apart as they were buffeted by explosions, several being thrown to the ground while their defeat markers blazed to life. 

“This is turning into an all-out brawl,” Lysithea commented. “Look at the flanks.” 

Multi-colored bolts of magic strafed through the sky and blasted small craters into the ground between the Blue Lions and Golden Deer, and Byleth was surprised by the ferocity with which Constance flung spell after spell at her foes. 

“There goes the general that Claude appointed in my stead,” Lysithea gestured to where a woman in yellow robes was thrown back by the sheer force of Constance’s attacks, her defeat marker twirling in a red beam. 

Yuri and his thieves burst out of a hiding spot they’d quickly taken in the trees and plowed into the Deer’s unprotected flank, sending them into such disarray that Balthus and Felix set about shredding their front line with ease. 

Byleth nodded with pride as he watched his students utterly dominate the other two classes, their martial prowess far exceeding that of their classmates as far as he could tell. 

“Man, that looks like chaos,” Hapi snickered, her warm body still pressed into Byleth’s side. “I’m glad I’m up here.” 

Seteth cleared his throat behind them. “Hapi, this is not appropriate behavior. Professor Eisner, are you not going to address that?” 

“It’s not hurting anyone,” Byleth shrugged, watching as Professor Manuela finally made an appearance among the dwindling ranks of the Black Eagles. 

The physician was desperately trying to keep her remaining students in the fight, focusing especially on Petra as the Brigid princess continued dancing around Dedue’s axe. The heavy knights had reformed their lines and were easily beating Petra’s own troops out of the fight, and this was when Dedue finally made his move. 

The Duscur giant swung his axe in a one-handed chop that forced Petra to sidestep, right into the face of his shield as he bashed her with it. The princess hit the ground and tried to roll, but two of Dedue’s knights blocked her path and finished her off with their own axes. 

On the eastern side of the battle, Hanneman and Claude were desperately trying to salvage what was left of the Deer as the Lions and Wolves smashed through their lines and decimated everyone in their path, but none were able to stand against Balthus and Felix’s combined ferocity. 

Ingrid and her remaining pegasus knights streaked into Dorothea and Lindhardt’s depleted forces and tried to knock out whoever was left, but Dorothea whipped a jagged Levin Sword out of its sheathe and raced towards her attacker. Ingrid thrust her lance at the songstress, who nimbly dodged the strike before sending a bolt of electricity into the fully-armored lady knight. 

Ingrid spasmed and tumbled from her saddle, her panicking mount immediately taking off into the sky and leaving its rider on the ground as her red defeat marker flared to life. 

“That looked painful,” Lysithea winced. “But Dorothea was smart to use lightning against an armored opponent. I only hope Ingrid isn’t too badly injured from the shocks.” 

Ingrid was down, but the battle was still heavily stacked in favor of the Blue Lions. Ashe fired another bolt at Dorothea and Linhardt, the resulting blast further decimating their already depleted numbers. 

“The battle appears to be won,” Rhea mused as Dimitri led his and Dedue’s forces down the hill and slammed into what little was left of the Black Eagles while the other half of the Blue Lions shredded the Golden Deer. 

“Indeed,” Seteth mused. “Your class’s martial prowess far exceeds that of the others, on a whole, but your academic capability falls behind in that regard. I suppose we should have expected that when we hired a common soldier to teach our students.” 

“Seteth,” Rhea glowered at him, and Byleth was not surprised to feel Hapi grip his arm with hers. 

“I told you before that I am no academic or scholar,” Byleth reminded the frowning advisor. “I did what I could to teach my students and cater their lessons around their goals, but I could only do so much given that I was learning the material, myself, as I was trying to teach it.” 

“Perhaps if you’d focused on familiarizing yourself with your academic subjects rather than training to kill everything around you like some savage, your class would be faring better academically,” Seteth continued. 

“Hey, everyone’s working as hard as possible to pass everything that Shiny is giving us!” Hapi snapped, her grip tightening. “He’s a really good Professor!” 

“I did not ask for your opinion,” Seteth said with a dismissive wave, still utterly oblivious to the danger he was setting himself up for. “Aside from Annette, Dimitri, and Ingrid, the Blue Lions are falling below the desired standards set for our students.” 

“I am going to sigh,” Hapi threatened under her breath. 

Byleth nudged her with his elbow and shook his head when she glanced up at him. 

“Why not?” she hissed. 

Byleth gestured around him, at where the other nine Spartans were currently aiming their spears at Seteth and rearing back to throw them. Rhea was rubbing her forehead like she was fighting a headache while the other Knights of Seiros got as far away from Seteth as they could. 

Only Catherine stayed by the Archbishop, Thunderbrand drawn and ready to defend from any stray projectiles. 

“Don’t be absurd!” Seteth spluttered, taking a stunned step back and lifting his arms as if they would protect him. “What do you think you’re doing?!” 

“We’re all getting real tired of you preaching about how we’re just dumb, ignorant brutes,” Podiarches rumbled. 

“And insulting us every chance you get,” another Spartan added. “We can understand your tongue, you know; we just need Argo’s spell to speak it.” 

Seteth’s face had drained of any color, his green eyes wide with shock and fear as over half a dozen heavily armed Spartans aimed their spears at him. 

“Only a fool would insult the man responsible for saving the life of his kin, or do you not care about that sort of thing?” Timotheos mused. 

“I-I do! I will forever be grateful to you for rescuing Flayn, but-” 

“But you can’t see him as more than a stupid savage whose only talent lies in fighting,” Shamir cut the advisor off, drawing all eyes to where she was examining and replacing the worn fletching on an arrow. “You complain about him every chance you get and, frankly, I’m getting tired of listening to it. We all know you objected to Lady Rhea appointing Byleth as a Professor and we all know you’ve had doubts about his ability to teach, but he’s been doing a decent job.” 

The sniper gestured out at Gronder Field with her arrow. “I mean, the Blue Lions and Ashen Wolves have been basically running the entire battle from the moment it started. I’m quite impressed with how strong they’ve become in just a few months. So what if the kids are falling slightly behind the other classes academically? Grades can be raised, but experience on the battlefield can keep them alive more than any academic work can. Take it from a mercenary if you don’t want to hear it from a cadre of professional soldiers.” 

“I knew I liked that one,” a Spartan chuckled. 

Byleth nodded his thanks at Shamir when she glanced at him, and she returned it with a small grin before resuming her work on the fletching of her arrow. 

“Seteth, please return to the monastery,” Rhea ordered after a moment of silence. “We will discuss this later. For now, let us celebrate the victory that Professor Eisner’s class has won.” 

Seteth balked, but he glanced again at the certain death currently being leveled at him and swallowed before nodding. “Yes, Lady Rhea.” 

“Can I please put this dory in between his shoulder blades?” Urythemos whispered. “See how high and mighty he is with Spartan iron in him.” 

“Not unless he attacks us with magic or something,” Podiarches muttered back. “Trust me: my arm is aching to throw just as much as yours is, but we can’t attack without provocation.” 

“I thought these new spears were steel,” Rhexenor was eyeing his spear’s leaf-shaped head as if it had betrayed him. “That bastard smith lied to me.” 

Rhea cleared her throat as Seteth made a quick retreat through the knights. “My friends, perhaps we should join the students on the field? I am certain Professor Eisner is eager to see his students.” 

“I am, indeed,” Byleth motioned for his companions to follow and then headed towards the path that would take him down to Gronder. 

Hapi kept her arms in his and kept pace with him, her mouth opening as if to speak when Lysithea joined them and beat her to the punch. 

“I wasn’t aware you were having such issues in learning the material, Professor,” the young prodigy said, ignoring Hapi’s annoyed grumble. “I’ve always kept myself well ahead of Professor von Essar’s lectures and have a lot of time to spare as a result. Perhaps I could study with you since I lost all of my materials?” 

An interesting proposal: one-on-one studying with undoubtedly the smartest student in the monastery. 

“Do it!” Sothis urged. “I long to witness something other than your brutal ‘training’. Honestly, even I am starting to feel a little bloodthirsty after bearing witness to such unceasing violence from you and your Spartan brethren. You could also stand to spend more time with your little flock! Have tea with them, invite them to walks or even share more meals with them! They are all such interesting children...” 

He should, yes...Byleth had always taken his role in a professional, Spartan manner, when he wasn’t being accosted without cease by Edelgard, Hapi, or Dorothea, and what he did know of his students came from glimpses of them lowering their guard during tutoring or if he’d overheard them speaking to one another. 

He could be closer to them. He _should_ have been closer to them...just because they were his students didn’t mean he couldn’t befriend them and grow alongside them. Perhaps he’d tried too hard to be stern and professional? 

“I would like that, Lysithea,” Byleth finally answered the girl’s question. “The more I can learn, the more I can impart upon my students.” 

Her pale eyes lit up as she smiled at him. “I look forward to it! We’ll have to set up a schedule to meet when we get back to the monastery.” 

“Agreed. I could definitely use the help,” he nodded. 

Lysithea pumped her fist in excitement and then hurried ahead of the descending group, her white hair flowing wildly behind her. 

“Shiny, can I ask you something?” Hapi asked, and Byleth noted that they were alone in walking down as he glanced over at her. 

“Of course,” he nodded, her grateful smile filling him with warmth. 

“You’re the best,” the girl nodded. “So, um, about what we said in Conand Tower...” 

Conand? Ah, right: their...feelings. 

“What about it?” 

Hapi fidgeted. “Well, would you want to spend some time together, just to the two of us? I know a nice spot outside of the monastery that’s great for stargazing.” 

“Stargazing?” Byleth repeated, glancing ahead at the battlefield to see the three house leaders talking to one another. 

“Yeah,” Hapi continued, her hesitation fading as she grew more confident. “Back in my village, I learned a lot about the constellations and how to navigate by the stars. It’s really soothing to just look up at them when I’m feeling stressed and can’t sleep.” 

“That does sound nice,” Byleth nodded. “I’d like that.” 

The Abyssian girl grinned at him. “Great! I look forward to it!” 

There was definitely a lighter skip in her step as they continued walking towards level ground, Byleth’s eyes going to where his battered and tired students were chattering with one another and the other classes while Flayn and Mercedes worked with Marianne and Linhardt to tend to everyone’s wounds. 

Pride smoldered in his chest, and he had to admit that his Lions had more than proven that they could handle themselves without him. Of course, he would still fight alongside them and do everything he could to protect them, but they had proven their strength once again. 

“Hey, Professor!” Annette waved to him, beaming with an absolutely brilliant smile despite the sweat making her skin shine. “What did you think? I was pretty great, wasn’t I?” 

“You did wonderfully, Annette,” Byleth nodded, practically feeling the pride and joy radiating from the girl. “Good work with taking out Lorenz after Ashe halted his charge.” 

“You were amazing, Annie!” Mercedes added, at which Annette hugged her fiercely. 

“That was not fun,” Sylvain was complaining as he stripped off his soaked armor and tried to towel himself off from his fall in the river. 

A small, coppery fish flopped out of his chestplate, only to be immediately pounced upon by Flayn. The girl cheered and lifted her prize, hunger gleaming in her eyes as the poor creature wriggled in vain in her grasp. 

“Ashe, that was some good shooting with the ballista,” Byleth said to the boy. 

Ashe grinned and rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. “Thanks, Professor! To be honest, my shots probably wouldn’t have been that accurate if Annette hadn’t helped me with the math. She was a lifesaver.” 

“And Dedue: nice work in holding the line against Caspar and Petra,” Byleth clapped the Duscur warrior’s shoulder. “Especially after taking a barrage of spells from Hubert.” 

“Thank you, Professor,” Dedue grinned at him, but it was clear the young man was exhausted from his exertions. 

“No compliments for us, Professor?” Yuri asked from the side, feigning offense. “I’m hurt.” 

“You did well in crushing the Golden Deer,” Byleth said in response. “Those pincer and flanking attacks you pulled off were very impressive. Balthus: nice work in keeping Hilda in place so Constance could blast her battalion. You certainly showed that you’re the King of Grappling today.” 

“Thanks, Professor!” Balthus laughed. “Man, this fight got my blood pumping!” 

Byleth continued through the crowd of students and soldiers, squeezing a clearly frustrated Ingrid’s shoulder in reassurance as he passed her and a rather sheepish-looking Dorothea. 

“It was you or me, Ingrid,” the songstress was saying. “I’m sorry Kyphon threw you from the saddle like that.” 

“He’s thrown me far harder. My pride took more of a knock, if I’m being honest,” Ingrid sighed. “At least there’ll be a feast back at the monastery. I can’t wait to see what food we’ll get to eat!” 

“That’s the spirit!” 

“I hope there’s some good cuts of meat!” Raphael chimed in from nearby, making both girls laugh. 

“Hey, Teach!” Claude raised a hand in greeting at Byleth’s approach, making Edelgard and Dimitri pause their discussion to look at him. “Well, it looks like we lost quite handily to you and yours, huh?” 

“You all fought well,” Byleth assured them. “Dimitri, how was taking command?” 

The prince was sporting new bruises and had several new dents in his armor, but he was grinning as he proudly shouldered his utterly battered shield. “It was a good learning experience, Professor. I will admit that I was nervous at first, but I tried to remember everything you taught me about projecting authority and issuing tact commands.” 

“To think that we were bested so easily...” Edelgard sighed, her long hair ruffled from where she’d been thrown. “This makes me wish you’d chosen to teach us, instead, Professor.” 

“Same here, though I’m not sure I’d enjoy that torture that you call training,” Claude nodded soberly, his expression grim. “Or that I’d even survive it.” 

Dimitri laughed. “You get used to it after a while! Although there are days when I wish my body wasn’t quite so sore!” 

“Is that from running laps in full armor or from having the life beaten out of you in endless drills?” Claude drawled, shaking his head. 

“Probably both and more,” Byleth chuckled, taking a moment to wonder just how much pain he’d inflicted on his students during training. 

“Just cut this wood, please!” he heard Flayn begging and glanced over to see her entreating Felix while hugging her fish to her chest. “I have heard that your sword skills are without match! Surely this should be no problem!” 

“I am not using my sword to cut wood just so you can cook your fish,” Felix snapped, but Byleth could see his resolve wavering. 

Poor bastard: Flayn was hard to say no to. 

“Professor, what did you think of the battle?” Dimitri asked, he and his fellow house heads looking expectantly at the Spartan soldier. 

“It was chaotic, but your goal was to defeat as many people as possible to win,” Byleth chuckled. “Lorenz’s insubordination certainly was a nail in the Golden Deer’s coffin, however.” 

Claude sighed, shaking his head as he shrugged. “Tell me about it. I swear he did it just to spite me.” 

“The Black Eagles fought especially well,” Byleth continued, at which Edelgard smiled at him. “Edelgard, I was quite impressed with how you single-handedly smashed a hole through Dedue’s line to get to Dimitri. The battle between you two was intense to watch.” 

“Thank you, my teacher,” Edelgard straightened at his words, pride shining in her eyes. 

Her Crest-or Crests? -were still radiating power, smoldering just under the surface and reminding Byleth that he’d need to talk to her about them later. 

“We’re going to have a feast in the dining hall,” Claude explained. “Care to join us?” 

“Yeah, Professor! You gotta come with us!” Annette and the other Lions crowded around them. 

“Wouldn’t be the same without you!” Sylvain grinned. 

“Come on, Professor!” 

Byleth felt himself smile as he looked at his tired but proud students. 

“Oh, what are you waiting for?” Sothis demanded. “Say yes!” 

“Let’s go,” Byleth nodded, earning a cheer from several of his kids. 

He had the feeling he was going to enjoy this. 


End file.
